Todd 3:16

Because the "Pro Wrestling Fanatic" demographic has become just that crucial...



I don't know whether to be amused or despondent, but as a general rule, any time our political process involves anything produced by Vince McMahon or has anything to do with the same enterprise that brought us this or this, it pretty much signifies a downward trend in American dignity, and probably intellectual capacity as well.

I'm not from Seattle, never been, and I think Gary Payton is one ugly sucker. All that aside, however, the prospect of the Sonics moving to Okalhoma City makes me queasy. Maybe it's because I've read so many angry/sad/solemn letters from Sonics faithful. Maybe it's because I've never read a positive word about Clay Bennett. Whatever the reason, I'm jumping on the "Save the Sonics" bandwagon. So visit www.saveoursonics.org and check it out.
Word is former owner and Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz is in a position to redeem himself in the eyes of Sonic-dom too. I wish him the best.

I consider myself Christian. The teachings of Christ are near and dear to me, in that they govern every aspect of my life and infuse every decision that I make. I particularly enjoy the somewhat-obscure instruction to "make ye friends of the Mammon of unrighteousness" in Luke 16:9. I say obscure because the majority of gospel teaching surrounding the so-called "Mammon," at least in my church, is aimed at driving home the better-known maxim that "no man can serve two masters." Simply put, spiritual necessities will often conflict with, and should trump, worldly desires and pursuits. Some people see this as a black-and-white issue: always serve God, never serve worldly desires, as if the two were always mutually exclusive.
But allow me to yet again play the moderate and say that I think both references to Mammon, taken together, clearly indicate that it is possible--indeed desirable--to associate, co-mingle, or somehow utilize this Mammon without becoming wholly subservient to it. From this theory we can justify the existence of "necessary
evils." This proposition means that, although they are not of themselves godly or spiritually-based pursuits, there are some things that are necessary to our temporal existence, and thus deserve our rapt attention. (Let me say, briefly, that I realize such balancing of temporal and spiritual affairs is a delicate matter, and the myriad worldly and spiritual necessities make a detailed list of priorities extremely long and impractical here.)
Money is one such necessary evil. I hate it. I loathe the almighty dollar with a fury reserved for the darkest netherregions of Dante's inferno. It holds a deified, albeit undeserved, place in the American psyche. Greed and covetousness have caused the debauchery, misery, and death of untold legions of innocent and guilty alike. I'm sick of it. I hate it like the science nerd hates gym class, like Michael Moore hates diets (or so it would seem). Money is to me as America is to Pat Robertson.
And yet it is necessary, a vital part of my continued existence. It puts food in my mouth, shoes on my feet, and a roof over my head. It gets me from Point A to Point B. Because I have more of it than some people (although I exemplify the term "lower middle class") I will be permitted to go farther in life that many, a fact which I am alternately grateful for and utterly ashamed of. Money buys me knowledge, gets me opportunities, and pretty much pervades every aspect of my life to such a degree that without it, I would be fortunate to realize one-hundredth of my innate potential here on Earth. And I hate that fact too.
But all the raging and combined furies of heaven and hell will not change that fact, to say nothing of my insignificant railings. I know that, in the cruelest of ironies, I will have to have money to achieve my ultimate temporal goal, that of having a family. My greatest possible spiritual achievement on earth necessitates that I get money, and a substantial amount of it at that. After all, I want my family to be comfortable at any expense of my own. If it were me and me alone, I could dispense with such a proposition, eschew the life that a middle-class job can buy, and hop on a plane to Kenya or New Guinea or some other remote locale. I could spend my days doing humanitarian work, digging wells, saving lives, writing news stories, shooting photo essays and contributing in my own little way to social development and general world peace. This, of course, is not the most economically viable option. And furthermore, as much as I profess to be a humanitarian, the needs of my own trump the needs of others when the two are mutually exclusive, as they are in this scenario. I can't raise a happy, healthy family on a relief worker's salary (which is, generally, $0).
And so here I am in law school, incurring exorbitant debts in the hope of even greater gains, assured by my most trusted relationships and a quiet voice inside that a happy family makes any travail a worthwhile one. But even here, money rears its ugly head. I want to be a DA. In my opinion, they promote the common good like no other lawyer can. Such employment gives me the greatest capacity to effect social change and touch the lives of many for good. But DAs make beans in comparison to their civil-litigation and corporate brethren. And I want my family to be happy. I'm faced with the possibility that I may again have to sell out in the name of raising a happy family, all thanks to the damned, demon dollar.
But it's only a possibility, not a certainty. And so I cling to the tenuous and uncertain hope that, God-willing, I'll be able to live a life dictated not by the dollar but by what I can do for the human race, while still making a comfortable living for a happy family.
And so I check my bank account, grimace, and get back to my textbooks.