2025-09-16T10:55:28+00:00

A Dallas Cowboys Win

September 16, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The Dallas Cowboys are the official NFL team of the Bridge Faith Community, I’ve decided, and yesterday they barely eked out an overtime win over the hated rival New York Giants. To be honest with you, it was pretty disappointing, and as I am examining why that is, I am finding that it speaks to a reality that is far mare important than some dumb game in Texas.

Every year, I think the Cowboys will win the Super Bowl, and every year since 1995, I am wrong. This no longer ruins my year, season, month or even day, like it did when I was a teenager. They are just my favorite team. I am not a player, I have no stake in the team whatsoever. Yet, I would say I love them. [Obviously, not in the way I love my wife or any other person I actually know. I’m not an insane teenager anymore.] This is, I recognize, a ridiculous reality, but it is a reality nonetheless.

Now, let me tell you about a family beach vacation, about 10-15 years ago. One evening, we were on the boardwalk and my sister and I began to argue – I don’t remember what it was about, more than that I wanted her to say and/or do something, and she wasn’t saying or doing that thing, that way. She wanted the same from me. We had pictures in our heads of how the evening should go, and when they didn’t, we were frustrated and angry.

(If you have a sibling, you know the kind of ‘frustrated and angry’ I’m talking about. There is a certain safety in screaming out of frustrating and anger at someone you’ve lived with since you were born.)

Why were we arguing on a beautiful night on a boardwalk in Ocean City? For the same reason I was (am) disappointed in a nice win. It’s also the same reason the Angel and I usually have conflict, in our relationship. When I’m shockingly mean to me, in my head, it’s for this reason, too. And it’s also why I don’t buy, or listen to, the new Counting Crows albums. While we’re on the subject, it’s probably why we all hate each other on social media.

My sister and I fought because we had an expectation for the evening, we expected something from the other. I expect the Dallas Cowboys to win every game, comfortably. When I listen to new Counting Crows records, I still have August & Everything After in my head, and this new one is never that! I walk into these conversations with my wife with expectations that she will see it my way, or respond to me in a particular way.

Expectations are about what they should do, what they are supposed to say, how this should go, who should win, how you are supposed to see the world, and on and on. And when they don’t, when it doesn’t, I am disappointed and petty. I lash out, or pout (in other words, I say mean things or nothing at all.)

That night on the boardwalk opened my eyes to a new question, instead of why she didn’t participate in my mental construct for a perfect evening. Who in the world was I to decide how she should be, what she should say???? What gave me the right to be the all-knowing arbiter of what is supposed to be?

And when I finally asked that question, and searched my super ugly parts for the truth, it’s easy to see that I gave me that right. It’s simple arrogance, the same idolatry that is so commonplace all over the Bible and still is, today, in every corner of all creation. I didn’t like that answer, but what I like or don’t like doesn’t really matter when we’re talking about the truth.

What if I could have allowed my sister to be and do only what she wants to be and do? What if I didn’t have to control every aspect of all people and circumstances? I’ll tell you what happens – I am free to enjoy the time. I am surprised by the kindness, care and thoughtfulness of people, and the stunning beauty of my life, when it can unfold naturally, without my need to write everyone’s story by the blinding light of my own altar. Most importantly, without expectation, I am free to be grateful.

I can’t always do it (like yesterday’s NFL game, for example), maybe I never will be perfect, but I’ll sure keep trying. It’s totally worth it. Those Counting Crows albums probably aren’t so bad, after all.

Catfishing Again

September 8, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

There’s a documentary on Netflix called Unknown Number: The High School Catfish, about a 15 year-old girl who starts getting absolutely horrible, menacing texts from numbers she doesn’t recognize. No one else recognizes them, either, because they’re from a text app that seems to be designed for exactly this type of thing. Why do they exist? Why would I want a randomly generated phone number for text messages? I cannot think of even 1 time I thought, “I wish I had a different number to text ____.”

I guess it’s pretty much like the Ashley Madison website. These sites & apps are for what they’re for, with no pretense or apologies. Ashley Madison’s business model is infidelity, period. Text apps are for catfishing. I don’t need burner accounts or phones, and I don’t need a super secret special number because I don’t mind if you see that it is from me, Chad. Maybe you do. But if you do, maybe you can also not use it to send abusive texts to your children? (I recognize I just gave away the reveal in the film, but it was bound to happen. My mom spoiled it for me, too.)

Anyway. The doc wasn’t great. At least, that is to say, I didn’t really care for it. It was so provocative you couldn’t look away, like the junkyard fire I saw 2 days ago. But the best documentaries paint pictures and tell stories to ask questions we don’t necessarily want to ask. People are almost never monsters. We hear their stories and end up understanding, even if we don’t like them. We see the tiny, incremental steps it took to cross the lines they crossed. They become more than the caricatures we see in headlines and click bait, they’re complicated & nuanced. We see ourselves in them.

After enough exposure, the judgment begins to be siphoned out of our hearts. Slowly. But if they are human beings, like us, then what? If we can forgive them, give grace to others, allow them to fall and be redeemed, then maybe we can be forgiven, redeemed, too. Maybe we shouldn’t be defined by the worst things we’ve done. Maybe we shouldn’t define others by the worst things they’ve done.

That’s what I love about documentaries.

This one had a villain. She did the thing, barely took responsibility, continued to lie, pretend, cried, thought she had been punished too harshly, and at the end, we didn’t understand. They didn’t ask the questions that would’ve invited her into the introspection that might have given depth. We didn’t, couldn’t, see ourselves.

[I do not blame the filmmaker, Skye Borgman, who has made many films that are brilliant. She deserves all of the awards she’s won. This makes me wonder if she simply couldn’t impel this woman to walk through the door out of villainous caricature. Maybe she did ask all of the right questions, but the answers gave so little, all that was left was the shocking story itself.]

Scooby Doo and other cartoons (and cartoon’y movies) have good guys and bad guys, but it’s hardly ever that defined in real life. When it is, it’s jarring and uncomfortable. They are usually great characteristics for documentaries – jarring and uncomfortable – but for different reasons altogether. I was happy when it ended.

Then, next time I turned on the tv, I could get back to rewatching Fisk.

Home at College

September 1, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I’m not watching much tv, outside of Fisk, repeating the 3 seasons. And when I get through them for the second time, I’ll start on the 3rd. I’m listening to Kitty Flanagan’s book 488 Rules For Life, and probably, when it’s over, I’ll just restart that, too. (Maybe not, there is another book to dig into. But as good as this one about the Rules is, maybe I won’t.)

My youngest son is now entering his 2nd week in college. My college experience was really, really awful. It’s no exaggeration to say I hated almost every day, with 2 big exceptions.

The first is that I played baseball, and I loved playing baseball, at a every level. Incidentally, I had a dream that lasted 22 years to play professionally, and I worked and worked, went to all of the all-star games, attended several open tryouts. But alas, I was not good enough. There is no shame in this, and I feel no shame at all telling you. I gave all I had to my dream (at the time, it was the only thing I could have said that about), and have zero regrets. I heard someone say, no matter what level you stop playing, you only stop playing because you’re not good enough for the next level, and that is almost never not true (no matter what the dads in the stands at high school football games say.) I was a college baseball player, and loved it 3,000.

The other exception was, obviously, the Angel. I met her in my junior year (which was not my 3rd year – I was on the extended plan;), and began dating her in my last semester. (It was a very good thing I was on that extended plan, I would have been long gone by that last semester if I was more focused and motivated.) She’s better than baseball, and I love her way more than 3,000.

Anyway, my boy sent me a video of a classmate playing his guitar and singing along with a girl who may or may not be a romantic interest. The song was “Home,” by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros – you know it, here’s the first verse and chorus:

Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my ma and pa, not the way that I do love you… Well, holy moly, me oh my, you’re the apple of my eye, Girl, I never loved one like you… Man oh man, you’re my best friend, I scream it to the nothingness, there ain’t nothing that I need… Well, hot and heavy pumpkin pie, cotton candy, Jesus Christ, there ain’t nothing please me more than you … Oh, home, let me come home, home is wherever I’m with you. Oh, home, let me come home, home is wherever I’m with you.

You know it, right? You love it, too. I know you do, because everybody does. The only people that don’t are those who are trying to have a too cool, imagined elitist, take – those people you don’t want to hang out with anyway. They are not your friends.

This college guitarist was surprisingly good, and the 2 of them sang together, and that was also surprisingly good. I watched the video several times, and since I’m a sucker for this type of beauty, I do hope she’s a romantic interest for my boy. But here’s the thing that’s more important, that I texted him his morning: this is what I want college to be, for him. A space with the free exchange of stories, ideas,

(I’ll continue in a second, but it seems important to tell you that, right now, outside my front door, the Angel has returned from her walk and is singing out loud while she stretches. I have the best life and it is rare that I forget that simple fact. I’m going to kiss her in a second.)

…free exchange of stories, ideas, talents, and hearts. This is also what I think the Church is, lots and lots of people being exactly who they are, and that who they are is accepted, appreciated, embraced, and loved by the others who are also being exactly who they are. These are places where we are invited to share ourselves, with vulnerability and complete authenticity.

He responded, “I really love it here.” Of course, you do, buddy. We all do, it’s home.

Going First (or The Angel’s Perfect Hips)

August 25, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Fisk is the best tv show I’ve seen in quite some time. I recognize I am prone to hyperbole and being a little bit of a prisoner of the moment, but I’m not a fool. That just means it might not be THE best (maybe it’s Poker Face, or Reacher), but it’s high…

It’s an Australian comedy set in a legal office, and the closest comparison is actually probably Seinfeld. There are 4 characters, who we know, more and more, and love, more and more, each episode. Things happen (it’s not a “show about nothing”), but not too much. The ancillary characters are quirky and odd, but never get in the way of our big 4. Extraordinarily well written, and well acted, I just think it’s perfect. You should start watching it now.

The Perfect Couple was pretty great, too.

I like most things, as it turns out. It’s not that I can’t tell quality, I know if a show or song or movie or meal isn’t good, I just can find something to enjoy in most everything.

There’s a country guy whose name I can’t ever remember that sings about being “bougie like Applebee’s,” and there will be no mistaking his music for important, the kind of contribution that lasts longer than a few summers and is required to tell the wonderful story of music. This isn’t “All Along The Watchtower,” or Pet Sounds, but I love it anyway, mostly because of how the Angel’s perfect hips move when it comes across her Pandora feed.

So now, like Pavlov’s dog, I don’t need her perfect hips for it to elicit a positive response.

I watch YouTubers with my sons, sometimes even the pointless ones who post videos of themselves stringing curse words together while playing video games, and I can almost like them. I keep watching them with them because they like them. I don’t have to know why, I just have to care. Sometimes I giggle along.

If the site were to ask me what I like about me, this characteristic would be an answer. I’m like a golden retriever, curious and excitable. My default position is that I like you a lot, and I trust you. Then, you would have to work your way out of that space – and it happens sometimes, but not very often. Instead, I find people to be generally trustworthy and awesome, and movies and songs are mostly pretty good. Even if they aren’t, somebody poured themselves into their creation, and that counts for everything.

[I think the most endearing thing about Charlie Cale in Poker Face is that she so obviously likes the freaks and weirdos and criminals that she meets. This is why she always gets involved.]

I want to be a golden retriever. I want to run to you with reckless abandon, and not wait for you to come to me and prove yourself. I’m really tired of a world of cynicism, division, condescension, and rage.

I want us to see & hear each other, to love each other, and for this to happen, somebody has to go first.

Top Ten

August 20, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

As you might have guessed, I have been making lists of “Top ___” lists as long as I can remember. Top 5/10/25/100 albums/songs, soundtracks, top 10 moments in professional wrestling history, top 3 MLB pitchers/shortstops, top 5 pizza shops, etc. You get the idea. This is not a new idea to me.

A very good friend once had a husband who made a list of his Top 500 songs. It was mostly awesome, (he turned out to be not awesome at all), but when you get past the first few, it gets pretty muddy and begins to be governed by little more than which one you listened to most recently. It’s obvious “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” is #1, but is “Rebel Yell” or “Possession” 14 or 15? I’d say “Heartbreaker” by Pat Benatar is somewhere in the area of 153, and so is “Overkill,” by Men At Work – who is to say which is 153 or 154 or even 171? AND are we including all Morrissey/Smiths songs? Because if we are, then the kind of list we’re making starts at, roughly, 40, with the exception of “I Can’t Help Myself” by Gene, which is either 1 (if Morrissey is omitted), 2 (if we’re only including “…Light That Never Goes Out”) or 6 (if everything is in play).

My Top 5 songs, incidentally, are 1. “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out,” The Smiths. 2. “I Can’t Help Myself,” Gene. 3. “Good Enough,” Sarah McLachlan. 4. “Hey Jealousy,” Gin Blossoms. 5. “Just Like Heaven,” The Cure. The 5 don’t change, but when “Just Like Heaven” is on, it’s #3.

Movies are an interesting proposition, though, as far as rules. Do you count entire series/trilogies as 1 or each individually? Will there be all 3 Lord Of The Rings films, or do you call it Lord of The Rings and leave it at that? What I’ll do is give my favorite of the series/trilogy and not include any others. And are there any genre limitations? Nope. Documentaries alongside fiction? That’s right. Here we go (maybe I’ll expand, if I feel it’s necessary). And we’ll decide at the end if this is the actual order…

Fight Club. Pulp Fiction. Kill Bill, vol 2 (and ONLY vol 2 – if I were to make a list of the movies I hated the most, vol. 1 would be high on that list). Point Break. Star Wars, ep. 8: The Last Jedi. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier (this will be the only entry from the MCU, although it probably could have been the first Avengers, Endgame, or Thor:Ragnarok. Any of those would be fine, too). Into The Spiderverse. LOTR: Return Of The King. The Dark Knight.

Now, I’m thinking about movies I loved that might have been high at different points in my life. I loved Dogma and Vanilla Sky. (Yes, I recognize Vanilla Sky is not the greatest, but for about 15 minutes in 2001, I thought it was just the cat’s pajamas.) Fraternity Vacation was exactly the kind of movie to really matter to a 13 year old. The Matrix, Adaptation, We Bought A Zoo, 12 Monkeys, and Knives Out all could’ve maybe made the list on a different day (with many others). But looking at the list – which is not in order, except Fight Club, that is #1 – maybe they couldn’t have. Those 10 are just about right.

I wonder what that says about me. Do we become the people we are because of the art we choose, or do we choose that particular art because we are those kinds of people? The Angel can’t get through 5 minutes of Pulp Fiction. Of course, she’s wrong, but why? What happened to make our interests so varied? Or did nothing happen, are we just pieced & wired together differently? Who knows? And honestly, who really cares?

When I took the Angel out on our first date, the first thing I did was look at her cd collection. It was cool and quirky, and it made me like her even more. As it turned out, the collection was her roommate’s. The Angel had about 15 cds, including Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, John Secada, and Backstreet Boys; it was like a traffic accident. Why would anyone possibly own these particular albums? After 25 years together, I still can’t answer that question, but what I did learn is that what we like isn’t nearly as important as I thought. Maybe it isn’t important at all. She finds no joy in Sarah M or The Cure, either. And I think she’s just the greatest, #1 in my list of favorite people.

I still make the lists, they still matter to me, I still care…I guess I just don’t need you to care anymore.

Creativity

August 19, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site prompt, today (or yesterday, since I didn’t finish it last night), was, “What do you enjoy most about writing?” I’ll tell you the truth, reader & AI program that chooses these prompts, I love almost everything about writing.

I embrace the possibility of the blank page/screen – at least, usually I do. Of course, sometimes, it’s terrifying, but I read this book by Stephen King once and he said, just write something, anything. That’s been great advice, because then, after a few words that are banal and meaningless, voilà, the page is no longer blank and far less intimidating.

I value the time. I write by myself, listening to music, in a fluffy recliner. While it’s not silent, it’s quiet, peaceful.

But to answer the prompt, what I enjoy most is the self-discovery. There have been countless times where the words & ideas flow in unexpected ways, opening my eyes to how I really feel and believe. I just start with questions and feel around in the dark for myself. This is what I’ve heard called an “inward journey.” There are no rules or judgment in writing like this, just the free expression of a person in progress. Maybe this writing is why I enjoy the “in progress” part of me so much. (Not the actual stretching, but the growth…maybe just in hindsight.)

Another thing I like most is the creation of a new thing (whether fiction or non, novel, short story, poem, post, or sermon). What did not exist, now does. We breathe life into work that will outlive and outreach us. I can get people I will never meet from all over the world reading the words I type from my fluffy chair. The pages and pages I’ve written, my boys could read long after I’m gone. (Probably they wouldn’t, but they could, right?) I don’t think this is a delusion of a narcissist, it’s much closer to our divine design. We are created in the image of a wildly creative God, with the purpose of spreading His love, His word, His Story, to the ends of the earth. Why wouldn’t that be what we do, however we do it?

So, I see now that the last paragraph could be called connection, and writing, especially in an immediate, interesting format like this, does that in a way few other mediums can. I can do this, open my heart in an authentic, vulnerable way, and we can find the common ground we’re all searching for.

My son goes to college in 2 days. This is the most wonderful pain I have experienced. It’s a new set of emotions. The order of things that I’m used to is: 1. I feel pain and wish I didn’t. 2. Later on, (months/years), I see how valuable that pain was, and become resigned to my own gratitude. This one is different. I am fully, overwhelmingly grateful as it is tearing my heart out and breaking it. I am proud, excited, would not even consider stunting this very natural, beautiful part of his becoming, his own journey. I will just miss him terribly.

At funerals, I have come to find that those who are only broken hearted are the luckiest. Some (most?) of us have some complex mixture or regret, anger, frustration, and on and on. What a gift it is to simply grieve. Those sad tears are a blessing that is pretty rare, honestly.

This is like that. I’m not afraid or hesitant. There isn’t mourning over times I’ve missed. He is all I could have ever hope for, our time has been better than the best, and he is ready to change this whole world by simply being in it. The Angel & I are healthy. We cry and we laugh and we encourage, all in it’s time, whenever it comes. I was mushy in line at Hersheypark yesterday because I felt mushy in line at Hersheypark yesterday. Then, we had an awesome time of joyful presence. We’re just here.

Having said all of that, do you know what I mean? Of course, you do. We’re not the first to do this, won’t be the last. Maybe you know about funerals or fear or regret. Maybe you understand me in ways you didn’t, or maybe you understand your neighbor or co-worker in ways you didn’t. Through these posts, we see that we are all human beings, created by the same loving God, sharing so much more than there could ever be different. And maybe that’s why God made us in His image, with the ability to do our own creating. To grow closer and learn how to love each other. It might not be writing, it might be cooking, organization, interior design, or anything else. But what it is is an offering, to each other and the God that so made all of this beauty.

Wedding Clothes

August 11, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I sometimes get the privilege of officiating weddings, of getting to say “Do you,” and “kiss your Bride,” and filling out legal paperwork that ties people together forever. I fully recognize the statistics that say we have about the same chance of forever as a quarter has of landing on heads, I just don’t care. I don’t have to acknowledge it, I can believe it’s forever.

This couple had been together since the 8th grade, through braces, high school graduations, college in different cities, injuries, long distances, COVID, and Trump, twice! Their book had the sweetest pictures you’ve ever seen of every awkward, beautiful step.

Their guests filed in, early and immaculate.

I mention it, because this is not as usual as you’d like to think. Some are late (some significantly so), some come in jean shorts & cut off t-shirts, and some take the opportunity of someone else’s wedding to make a mess. I had one Bride’s mother show up late for an outdoor wedding in a park, and drive by slowly, uncomfortably close to the people, and through, never bothering to stop and attend. This isn’t only guests. Once, a Groom wore a tank top and gym shorts to his own wedding to a woman in a perfect white dress.

I would tell you I mind, and I probably do. But that tank top wedding was awesome, some underdressed guests were wonderful surprises to the couple, and really, who cares how you are there, as long as you are there, right? I don’t necessarily like our casual culture, where every time & place is the same as any other. We “come as we are” everywhere we are. Of course, I’d like some separation. I’d like to set apart some moments. A wedding simply isn’t a ballgame. I’d like to bring back church clothes. But I’m the pastor and I wear shorts and untucked shirts all summer long, so there’s that.

We can agree that some things are just more important, like heart postures. Clothes aren’t everything, are they? Nope. But they can certainly tell a story, (not the whole story, obviously), and give a window to the posture of the heart. They can speak volumes. The look of the guests at this wedding sure did.

I imagine that the women bought new dresses and shoes (who cares where they bought them or how much they spent???) for this day, they started doing their hair and makeup in the morning. The men bought new ties, shaved, and wore fancy socks and pants that fit. They reflected on this couple, who they desperately love, as they did it all, and respected them, the day, the amount of money and time that was invested in the ceremony, and the grace of the God who made all of this possible. That’s what I imagine, and you can’t convince me otherwise. They came and gave their very best to this moment…because this moment deserved it.

Now. That sort of implies that some moments don’t, and I don’t believe that, either. Maybe that’s the justification behind our super-casual, dressing down. And maybe that’s where I can argue. Maybe instead of bringing everything down to the level of picnics and McDonalds, maybe we can acknowledge the significance of every second, every place, every person. Maybe McDonald’s shouldn’t be eaten in the car and maybe we shouldn’t show up late to anything. Maybe we could eat on the fine china for sandwiches with our spouses? Maybe we should raise the consciousness and treat everything like the blessing it is? Maybe we can just start with this moment and go from there?

Transmogrification

August 6, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I’m not so sure “transmogrification” is a word – I read it in Calvin & Hobbes, that means it is, to me. Of course, it’s a word. The only question is if it’s in the dictionary, but we have mostly decided that the grammar/vocabulary/spelling rules we learned in school don’t matter, as a culture, so I won’t even bother to spend the 3 seconds to look it up. I’ll use it as a perfectly acceptable synonym for transformation.

(Why would I not just use ‘transformation,’ then? That’s a good point. 1. I love Calvin & Hobbes and like remembering the comics. They make me the best kind of nostalgic, and they make me think of my brother in law. 2. Transformation, especially in the context I’ll be using it, can be one of those words derogatorily called Christian-ese – like, for instance, fellowship – and I generally avoid those.)

I am in a process of transmogrification. This summer is a season of intense “stretching,” where I’m climbing in a box, a transmogrifier, and will exit as something quite different. I don’t know what that is, yet. I’m trying to simply change, naturally, acknowledging/embracing a lack of control, as if I’m in the trunk being driven somewhere. This is new. Usually, I overthink and try to steer… or at least give my input on the “best” route. I apply pressure, the unavoidable weight of significance, and sometimes it is gives exactly the right amount of beautiful care, other times this pressure squeezes the air right out of the flight.

I used “acknowledge/embrace” in that last paragraph. Do I truly lack control? Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes animals behave differently when they’re being observed, right? They always behave differently when they’re being manipulated. I call it participation, but it’s easy to cross an already blurry line into hammering square pegs into round holes. I’m trying to avoid that line altogether, let this process be absolutely (I CANNOT think of the word I want to use, here!! It is a word that means unhindered, it will be what it is ‘supposed to be,’ just following the next thing, taking the next step in front of me, without my often-arrogant planning. Anyway.) Patient, but not passive. Not choking the journey or the Guide, allowing the Spirit to work, lead, while I am quietly listening.

Of course, there is a different, unconsidered possibility. What if the transmogrifer is not changing me? What if everything else (the environment, circumstance, atmosphere – the trees, grass, clouds) is spinning, while I stay the same? Not “stay the same” as in lazy stagnation, but standing where I am, in my identity, in Truth, as the pieces of my life are rearranged. Can we remain solidly grounded & consistent in a hurricane of movement? Maybe this is a season for an anchor.

It’s interesting how changing the frame gives the painting a brand new look & feel. You see details previously overlooked, things you thought were integral are ancillary, colors take on new meaning. Maybe that’s really why I chose transmogrify, and maybe it’s not a direct synonym at all. Writing is such a valuable, enlightening practice, because where you begin is so rarely where you end, and you learn so much along the way. Maybe that’s what transmogrification is, a turn (sometimes subtle, practically unnoticeable, or seismic), leaving us in a gorgeous new world.

Get Off My Lawn

August 3, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

This post is being written under protest, with great hesitation. You see, I’m going to complain about the younger generation. I’m going to tell you what’s wrong with the “kids today,” and probably wax nostalgic on how it was ”back in my day.” I won’t really like it, and it’ll be very uncomfortable, but I’m going to do it because I hated the new Netflix Train Wreck: Storm Area 51 documentary that much.

As you know, I love the Train Wreck series. The filmmakers dive deeply into these strange, sometimes sad, sometimes hilarious, events that illustrate the insanity of you and me. This is great, for so many reasons, one of which being that we can see our penchant for ambition that is selfish, uncivil and often criminal. We are mostly all like this, any argument is simple arrogance, and it gives us a window into the human condition if we are allowed to descend into a Lord of the Flies-like environment. They are warning signs along our society’s roads.

Now. This last one, Storm Area 51, felt different. A vape shop kiosk employee called “shitposting” (or something equally mindless and depressing) created a social media event called Storm Area 51, where a group of people would, well, storm Area 51, because “they can’t possibly stop us all.” Why? Aliens, I guess. (As if any of us have any doubts and need more proof.) Area 51 is a highly guarded military base. The vape shop guy, called Matty, thought it was funny, but didn’t account for the basic desire of influencers to desperately solicit clicks. (How “shitposting” can not account for the neediness of social media is beyond understanding and the textbook example of a lack of self-awareness.) Many millions of people said they’re going, driving citizens of nearby towns, law enforcement, and the military, into a state of terror. As it turns out, almost nobody showed up, no one caused any problems, and it cost everyone many more millions of dollars.

Now.

The younger generation has an alarming lack of spacial awareness that comes from 2 things: they spend most of their time inside, on devices, populated by 2-dimensional screen names instead of human beings. And a refusal to acknowledge that our actions have consequences in real life. You see, 2-dimensional screen names don’t have mortgages, children to care for, dreams, feelings, or needs of their own. We are the stars of our own story, as a matter of fact, like the Truman Show, we are the only living boys and girls in this construct.

So, when the woman who owns sinks everything she owns (and much more) into a partnership with an absolutely clueless Matty (with a sociopathic inability to empathize with anyone) to prepare for the millions of YouTubers, only to be shafted by the same Matty in the end, he has no idea what he has wrought. He only sees his own tiny circle of one, and he’s deathly afraid that he will have to take a shred of responsibility (gasp!) for his actions.

Whatever. It’s my truth, my reality, my way, and if you don’t like it, Boomer/Karen/etc, I can’t possibly begin to care. I have my next videos to plan & promote.

I think all of the kids involved were genuinely surprised that their actions weren’t just fun, and that a massive cost was attached to an irresponsible prank. That’s not awesome.

I have a friend who is super sweet in person, and as mean online and in texts as you have ever experienced. He’d never say the things he writes. And when the actual human beings on the other end of the screen get their feelings hurt and block him, he can’t understand why, either. What do you mean? There aren’t consequences, everything is a vacuum. You’re just too old to understand.

Maybe that’s true, but I am concerned for my lawn when the new caretakers don’t understand that if they dump weed-killer, it can kill more than weeds.

I think the new age is exciting and wonderful, we are connected in ways that are astounding. I like YouTubers and want them to continue. There is so much fantastic content out in the cyberverse, we could never get to the bottom of the well. They’re funny. Memes are funny and often quite smart. I see things I would never otherwise see. This is an amazing time to be alive.

But, like everything, there is a cost. We just need to know & understand what it is, before we decide if we’ll pay.

(There, thankfully, it’s over. I’ll try not to write such a negative post again. Rainbows and puppy dogs from here on out!!)

Hulk Hogan Instead Of Terry Bollea

July 29, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Theo Huxtable, Hulk Hogan, and Ozzy Osbourne died in the last several days, and so did big parts of my childhood.

I loved the Cosby Show. I probably would now, too, if Bill Cosby, paragon of (what turned out to be) hypocritical virtue, wasn’t so problematic. Malcolm Jamal Warner was the best in a perfect cast of bests. I haven’t thought of him in years, but I still might miss him. I wish his family peace. But I think I miss the show, and my pretend idea of what the show was, what the show represented, even more.

I didn’t much care for Ozzy’s music. Maybe that’s a terrible thing to say, maybe I should think Black Sabbath “changed my life,” like I’m supposed to think about wildly overrated Radiohead. Whatever. Who has time for what we “should like?” “Barbie Girl” sounds & feels better than anything Radiohead created after The Bends.

However, Ozzy is a very important footnote in my life. In my middle school hell years, I thought about suicide often, and wrote about it in some awfully dark poetry. My mom found these poems, and, appropriately frightened, confiscated my cassette tapes. She had, apparently, bought into the common belief of the moment that heavy metal bands were killing our children. I raged against her for taking my Ratt, Quiet Riot, and Ozzy tapes. She was THE WORST. She said she threw them in the garbage, and was willing to suffer my wrath forever. But my thoughts about suicide faded into a depressed rhythm, never too real after 8th grade. I discovered that it wasn’t always going to be that/this dark. As it turns out, she didn’t throw them away, and I got them back eventually. I was happy to listen to Ratt and QR again, but not really Ozzy. I don’t think he caused my depression, it was just probably timing. However, what my mom did remains one of the very finest things anyone has ever done for me. It means something very significant that you would be loved enough that someone will go to any lengths to hear/listen/help you, even to risk your hatred of them. She put my life before her comfort, our relationship, or anything else. She gets an A+ for that. And every time I think of Ozzy, I feel really, really important and loved.

Now. Hulk Hogan. I don’t know how to express to you just how much of my attention and life went to professional wrestling, and Hulk Hogan. And to tell you the truth, for some reason, I don’t want to try.

What I notice right now is that I refer to these 3 by their character names, Hulk Hogan instead of Terry Bollea. That’s telling. They weren’t people, they were someone’s invention, and they are that to me. I don’t know Malcolm Jamal Warner, I only know Theo Huxtable. I know how these fictional characters made me feel, or what they represent. And what they represent is other places and people, real places and people. My mom, sister, girlfriends, and my best friend. The ones who loved me, who I loved, who cared for me, the ones with whom I shared the most valuable moments of my life. I guess that’s why I love art – and artists – so much, for their ability to reach into our real lives through connected imaginations and find commonalities, emotions, events, giving hope that where we are is awesome, but where we’re going can be even better. They asked us to believe in them, in each other, and ourselves.

And I still believe.

Love With A Capital L

A journey towards living an inspired life of love in the modern world