Junk Calls -- We Must Be Merciless

You probably saw me at one of the local parks here in the Big City, standing on a boulder, holding forth in speeches and one-on-ones with others against junk phone calls and messages. I kept going till I lost my voice, and it wasn't easy. Because some of the junk call centers knew all about it, and dropped by to plot a little revenge on me and my allies with junk calls even as we rallied. They know their time is short, but only IF...

Yes, IF... Friends, I remember when I was little, an old man took me aside and told me IF is the biggest word in the English language. That baffled my ignorant little hayseed self, leaving me entirely confused and in a daze of stymied mentality, yet trying desperately to put it together in my minced-meat state of mind, still so common yet today when new truths batter my ramparts seeking entry. The old geezer said, "Son, IF is the biggest word in the English language, because it's so hard for people to believe they have the power to accomplish anything. IF only this, IF only that ... and the motion fails for lack of a second." He went away cackling, but I pondered it...

True, true, so true. Nothing gets done, but IF we came together. Let's say we actually joined forces and did something. Say we hogtied the political forces that are against progress. Say we then hornswoggled them beyond that. Then blindfolded them and sent them to a deserted island on the north pole of Mars. Finally, at long last, we'd be able to get something done. What would it be? you're wondering. Finding a cure for cancer? Medicare for all? Humanity's hope for worldwide peace? Yes, yes, yes, all those things in good order. It'd all get done...

But first, we'd take on the junk call industry. I don't have to recount for any of you the scourge the junk call industry is to human society. You know it in all its pathetic vastness on a daily basis, with daily intimacy. We finally secured the miracle of phones for everyone, a phone in every pocket, unlimited calls with a relatively low monthly fee, messages up the wazoo for everyone. You can message someone, "W'sup?" and they know just what you mean. You're in intimate contact with everyone you want, anytime you want, no holds barred. And what do we get? Junk calls!

Well, whatever they're selling, I'm not buying. But they keep calling. You're watching TV, you're out sightseeing, you're sitting in church, you're stripped down in a sauna, and there goes your phone yet again. Someone from out-of-state, someone spoofing the area code and local prefix where they think you live, etc., all trying to cheat you out of something, and definitely screw you out of your time and energy. It's depressing. But my hope is that Society will become mean enough, bad enough, and angry enough to finally put the screws to the junk call industry once and for all. Close 'em down, and if they try to come up for air, cut off their air, and let 'em die!

Are you with me? You are, unless you're one of 'em. Tell me you're not one of 'em. But if you are with me, here's the plan: We mobilize, we tell our representatives, senators, the president, the first lady, whoever, this has to be the priority. And it can be. Remember World War II? We mobilized and made the world safe enough to have unlimited babies, the Baby Boom. Remember the Interstate Highway project? One day we decided to do it, the next week there were super highways everywhere. A week later they were clogged and needed work. But they were great that first week.

We can bring that same determination and resolve to shutting down the junk call industry, to jail the bosses, to rehabilitate our fellow citizens desperate enough to take jobs pushing their buttons, and then to burn down the entire works. Saving only a few of their evil computers and other infernal equipment in museums, explaining how humanity was attacked and yet rallied against them.

The last thing I want to get is a junk call. It rings -- oh, it's a junk call, click the button, don't take the call. But why should any of us be doing that day after day, continually, without a break? We shouldn't. Those were the calls that were supposed to be illegal all along, because it wastes your minutes. Even with unlimited minutes, it's still wasting my minutes. Shut the industry down!

If they won't shut it down for those reasons, the next thing is to treat it like an invasion of rats or the spread of the plague. With merciless combat. The plague, I don't know how we'd combat that, but we wouldn't be happy. Some of us would be standing on picnic tables, our pants legs rolled up. The rest would be carrying super-powered blast cannons, or makeshift blowtorches, doing major damage against those ugly little rodent bodies. I'd love blasting them, but I have to admit, I'd need a break; I'm seriously prone to the vertigo that comes from the same patterns over and over and the weird shifting it'd have to be with rats dashing helter-skelter everywhere.

Merciless, though, that's the key word Society needs to know. Because there's nothing beneficial to society about junk calls. Beyond the salaries the various ones get as they do their dirty work. But those who don't go to prison could find gainful employment doing something else, maybe serving as lunch ladies in middle schools. Since they're already used to a bad reputation. 

The Graffiti of Quick Draw McFiti

What would you think if I turned out to be local graffiti sensation (or to some spoilsports and haters of the arts, scourge) Quick Draw McFiti? What a surprise that’d be!

Interesting question, huh? You’re probably wondering why I asked. No reason, heh heh, just throwing it out there as a rhetorical question to muse on, let’s say. But, really, what would you think? I can well imagine how the run of the mill folks would take it. For the non-artistic among us, I’m sure so many of them would curse my name and feel that I should be brought to justice at long last. Then we'd have the other end of the spectrum, art lovers and fellow artists, who would be either very happy that the mystery was at long last solved or happy the authorities were getting me off the street, out of jealousy, or even because they're sticks in the mud.

It’s the last crowd that makes me sickest, frankly. To be the object of envy, or to put it more charitably, misunderstood in whatever artistic pursuit you choose, then vilified, is no good. It totally brings me down to contemplate that response, but of course everyone knows there’s lots of crumbs in life. Then there's the artsy-fartsies who think art isn't for the various walls around town, but for the museum. To them, I have a few things to say. The cleanliness of a wall is not worth stifling the artistic sensibilities of a person like Quick Draw McFiti -- Let's hear it for him! I’m not sure I can even forgive them, and people who know me always see in me a very forgiving person. I forgave that kid that sprayed "CRANK" on my outhouse.

But let’s set the naysayers aside; it’s dragging down my spirit. It’s the artistic-minded, the lovers of art, those who celebrate the spirit of the artist, that I celebrate. Whoever McFiti is, they may not care about that little detail as much, because they’re not looking to nab him or give him his comeuppance. Their thing, like I said, is to celebrate. You see a blank wall and you’re like, “Yeah, a blank wall.” But you see an artistic tour de force — and Quick Draw’s works are so often described with that term, if I do say so myself — you quickly shake off the doldrums and come alive.

I’m alive today and happy! Happy to see this arms-open-wide piece in the light of day. It looks better than I remember or even expected. For such a quick drawing. You just shake the can and cock it toward the wall and whisper a little prayer for guidance; there’s no UNDO button. It actually might be that detail alone that gives such quick abandon to McFiti’s stuff. Which I thoroughly resonate with. My thinking's precisely the same. Whatever you have in your heart and mind, put it down quickly, then let it be. The truest art simply flows.

Anyway, as to the details of this particular piece: It’s exactly something that’s in my own heart, continually. The prophet appears, like Isaiah or Jeremiah or Elijah*. They’re known for extended prophecies that welled up and overflowed from their heart. But the key to their power was their giving-over to the Spirit. Few edits, little self-consciousness; this was something bigger than themselves, and quicker. Like Quick Draw McFiti! Who has a similar message: The prophet throws his hands up and proclaims, “THOU SHALT.” A great positive message!

I’ve had that very thought in my own heart for a while, and how good it is to see it finally on full display. You don’t know how proud I am, and yet I’m only the conduit for a greater power; if we don’t personify it, we could merely call it The Power of Life! Elan, Energy, Elixir!

Draw on, mysterious Quick Draw McFiti, you’re doing our sad old world a great deal of good.

*Time would fail me to tell of Anna Phanuel.

My Christmas Star

I awoke yesterday morning very early. It was pitch-black out. All I could see were the streetlights, an occasional car passing, and the twinkle from a few of the neighbors' bathroom windows.

It had been a cloudy night, and still, you could've cut the fog with a knife. Tremendously thick. It hit me hard.

The thing about it, why it hit me hard, was that my prayer before bed was that I might see the Christmas Star, and behold it. I thought, "Well, maybe next year. My prayers must have gotten stuck in the fog."

The Christmas Star. Just saying it instantly recalls the story of old that we all heard when we were just little tykes. It's one of the first stories I ever heard, and I remember the details of it even to this day. The Three Wise Men lived in their own country -- somewhere -- then they saw a magnificent star in the sky, appearing bigger than any other. The other odd thing is it went before them on their journey. They followed it, singing:

Star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright.
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us by thy perfect light.

It was an awesome sign, one they were privileged to divine. Whereas everyone else was at their wit's end, with no clue. Then as now, miracles are tough to fathom. They kept going, and kept going, from one country to another, inquiring after kings and prophets to enhance their understanding. But none of them knew!

In the end, they came to Judea, and made inquiry at the court of Herod. There they met with the same perplexity, but finally the word came as to where Christ would be. They hurried on, and found the Babe with His mother and Joseph standing over him. As they offered their gifts, they beheld for one last time the Christmas Star before it vanished into the mysterious slipstream of eternity.

So I said my prayers, that the world, and I, might behold the Christmas Star again. I felt we might grasp the sign today with greater recognition, since we've heard the story a million times. But could it ever again appear? Suddenly, I felt the conviction that I must get in my car and drive. Drive? Where to? Just drive!

I went a few blocks and saw a big red light. Which turned out to be the light on the water tower. I saw some other lights somewhere else, which turned out to be another dead end. Then other lights out by the interstate, flashing, which unfortunately turned out to be a cop who had pulled over some folks. Any time I see cops pulling over people, I have my own song:

Better him than me,
Better him than me!
One thing I can say for sure,
Better him than me!

I kept driving, and the thought occurred to me, "Don't follow lights. Just drive out into the country where it's dark. And have faith!" So I turned down the crummiest looking, scuzziest, worst maintained gravel road I could find. I kept driving. It was so dark, even the deer weren't awake. I had no idea where I was going. But I kept going, praying, "Show me the Christmas Star!"

It took a while, but finally I crested one unlikely looking hill and there was a star on a post over by a guy's barn. He either forgot to set the timer to turn it off at 3 a.m., or maybe the powers on high had turned it on, just for me. It was nailed together and trimmed with light bulbs, the energy-wasting kind that we used to use without guilt. I thought, "How humble. Yet how awesome." This has to be My Christmas Star. It doesn't have to float around in the heavens for it to offer its powerful message. Naturally, I broke down, and to compose myself again was not very easy.

That's when I remembered the story of Christmas, the rugged, humble manger and all the rest ... and I knew all would be well.

May you also find Your Christmas Star!

OUR CHRISTMAS CARD TO YOU:

On behalf of myself and the remaining members of the Board of Editors -- Dale and Delilah, our only female member -- I want to give you the best of all Season's Greetings, and our firm hope that you also will share in the richest blessings of the New Year.