Okay, let’s play Imagination Time for a moment.

Imagine that you are a lesbian living in the Denver area (imagining liking girls is pretty easy for me; imagining the change in plumbing is a little tougher). Imagine that you are also a parent of a pre-school age child and are looking for a good school for your kid. Now, tell me what that school would look like?

Would it be a Baptist school? Why or why not?

Would it be one of the Denver Waldorf schools or a Montessori school? Again, why or why note?

Lastly, would it be a Catholic school? Why or why not?

Whether I like them or not, the religious schools very well could have policies against accepting or keeping students who are living in families that don’t adhere to their standards of conduct. Not only is it legal, it’s entirely understandable. Yes, I also understand why the parents might have wanted their kid in a religious school, but that doesn’t really change the other side of the equation.

The story of a lesbian couple whose kid is not being allowed back into a private Catholic school is raising a bit of noise around the area, though. Even school staff is voicing (anonymously) disappointment in the Denver Archdiocese decision.

According to the Archdiocese, parents who enroll their kids at Sacred Heart of Jesus Catholic School are expected to follow the Catholic Church’s beliefs.

“No person shall be admitted as a student in any Catholic school unless that person and his/her parent(s) subscribe to the school’s philosophy and agree to abide by the educational policies and regulations of the school and Archdiocese,” the statement said.

Because this student’s parents are homosexual, the Archdiocese says they were in clear violation of the school’s policy.

School staff members, who asked to remain anonymous, say they are disgusted by the Archdiocese’s decision.

For those staff members who disagree so strenuously, I suggest that you tender your resignations. For parents who disagree, I suggest you withdraw your children. Register your disagreement in the best way you know.

Still, the “disgust,” especially on the part of the staff, is either incredibly naive or merely over-dramatic. What did they really think would happen? They do happen to work in a Catholic school. For that matter, for the parents, I feel fairly sure that they must have been actively subverting any code of conduct and policies that they had to agree to before placing their child in the school.

I say again: what did they really think would happen?

Last year when I was looking for a new job, I came across one that I was reasonably well-qualified for at a local Christian college. I started the application process and came to the code of conduct that I was expected to agree to and live up to as a requirement of employment.

Now, I really wanted a job and the idea of working on a Christian college campus appealed to me to. I know that this will be shocking to some folks out there, but I truly do take my religion seriously; I mean it when I call myself a Christian. That doesn’t mean that you’ll be able to find me to be a perfect fit for the teaching of any one church, and I have a hard time reconciling the areas of disagreement with my desire to be involved in a church.

When I came to that code of conduct, though, I knew that I would not be able to sign it in good conscience. It might not be readily apparent to anyone at the school and I might well be able to talk my way into the position, but it would be starting my employment based on a lie. I could not sign that code of conduct because it would have been a lie.

I have enough respect for myself to stand up for those things in which I believe. I have enough respect for others to not lie to them about the same.

Read the rest.

Since I was a little boy watching James Bond movies, I’ve loved Aston Martins. Fast, exclusive, and beautiful cars. I obsessed over them for years and, when it looked like they would be another casualty of the self-destructive tendencies of the British auto industry, I applauded when Ford stepped in and rescued them from the dustbin of automotive history.

In the early 90’s, I bartended at the Embassy Suites near the Denver airport. One of the bonuses of living in Denver is that you occasionally see cars going through their high altitude testing regimens. Engineers and cars with strange paint jobs and camouflage, would show up in our parking lot on a semi-regular basis. The guy from Lotus didn’t like to be bothered and would talk about his car. The occasional domestic manufacturers didn’t interest me because, well, their cars were the kinds of things I could actually expect to drive within my lifetime. Which, by its very nature, doesn’t have the kind of drama or interest that something out of reach like a Lotus or a Bentley.

One day, I showed up to work and there was an Aston Martin DB7 in engineering garb. A little computer set-up inside for diagnostics, a few bits sticking out here and there to gather information, and one of the most beautifully pure shapes of any car I’d ever seen. Real artistry in auto design is rare--which isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy looking at even fairly common cars, but that the forms that made up the DB7 were close to perfection both in the subtleties of its curves and in the cues that brought it in line with the rest of the Aston Martins through history.

This was after the car had been introduced at an auto show (Geneva auto show, if memory serves), so I knew what it was. After staring at the thing for a bit, I walked in and told anyone who would listen that there was a real, live Aston Martin in the parking lot. The kicker was that later that night, while I was working the bar, a group of a few British engineers came in, talking about cars and beer and where they had to go the next day. Someone said something about Tom Walkinshaw Racing--and it clicked in my head. I knew that Aston Martin had farmed out engineering work on the DB7 to TWR--these guys were the engineers. These were the guys that got to drive around in that car.

I comped them their drinks. I talked to them about cars, impressed them with my knowledge of the British auto industry, chatted about politics, told them about my truck (at that time I was driving a new Mazda B4000 extended cab). I listened to them tell me about the car, about Aston Martin, and about how many free drinks that thing got them while they were driving through all of their testing grounds.

Over the next year or so, they dropped in for more testing. They brought a few cars each time, they had a rotating group of engineers, and we got along spectacularly.

The comped drinks helped.

Then we started going places in their cars. First it was to a gas station down the street just so I could get the feel. Then it was to a bar where my wife was working. Then it was me driving the test car to my apartment complex to show the car to my wife and then it was a buzzed engineer asking if I wanted to drive the car while we went out drinking. Which I did.

Oh, boy, did I. I had the thing going over a hundred by the end of an on-ramp at one point--a ridiculous and unreasonable speed that I was sure any police officer would understand if he I could only get him to imagine what he himself would do if he were in my situation. Luckily, I didn’t have to test my theory.

The last time I saw the crew--Nigel, Steve, Martin, Dan, Chris, Mickey, and Phil--they gave me some gifts (including their autographs on the box of a Maisto Supercar Collection model of the DB7). I treasure those gifts. I won’t say who let me drive those cars since it might have some effect on their jobs, but I was in contact with them through 1997 and probably would have kept contact if it hadn’t been for the brutal dissolution of my marriage getting in the way of my normal life.

And I continued to lust after the car I couldn’t have. As it grew up into the DB9 and the same design basics extended to the rest of their line-up, I lusted after Aston Martins. The new DBS doesn’t have quite the same perfection and beauty of the DB7 and the DB9, but it inspires warm, tingly feelings in me. When a new Aston was demolished in Casino Royale, I groaned. Loudly enough that my wife gave me dirty looks in the theater, in fact.

I tried to explain to her later: “Beautiful things shouldn’t die senseless deaths.” She didn’t really understand.

Now it is time for me to stop loving Aston Martin. Not because I’ve grown up or become a better person or because their cars have suddenly become horrible, but because they have committed the unforgivable sin. If your brand is built on exclusivity, if your brand is built on beautiful design, if your brand is built on the perfect melding of old British charisma and forward-thinking design and engineering, you damned well cannot sell out and have your brand plastered on overpriced, ugly, supposedly collectible Nike Hyperdunk shoes.

It’s embarrassing. It cheapens the value of the logo. It’s an immature venture for a mature (or, at least, wealthy, mid-life crisisey) brand.

When your brand is associated with the mystique of James Bond, that’s just good decision-making. When your brand is associated with pitifully designed, empty marketing efforts like the Hyperdunks, then someone should be fired.

It’s been a dreary day here in Denver. A gray, weepy game with drizzling, cold rain and snow. For a melancholic soul like me, it’s a catalyst for the worst of my own mind. Fears, worries, and a creeping, spidery awareness of my own failings poke at the back of my head, needle sharp and insistent. Much of it comes from memories that play in my head as if the I was living through some of the worst moments of my life again.

I can see, hear, smell, and feel everything that happened in those moments. Sometimes I think I understand junkies and alcoholics. If you can’t turn off the noise in your head by shear force of will, if you can’t find a way to get away from the most vicious bits of yourself, then drugs and booze are a hell of a temptation.

Which is one of the reasons I stopped drinking at one point in my first marriage. Not that it saved us, but I started to understand why I liked drinking so much, and it wasn’t a very happy realization.

Some of you know that I lost a friend when I turned 21. He died an ugly death around the same time I started bartending--a death directly attributable to his alcoholism. I had been drinking since I was about 13, but his death was almost like someone firing a starter pistol and I was racing to the bottom of the bottle. Most people that I knew then were drinking because it was part of the party; I was drinking because I wanted to kill myself. I had a very specific view of myself and I wanted to destroy the person that I saw, I wanted him to sink away and never come up for air.

Of course, it wasn’t always that way and it wasn’t constant--which is why I never quite made it to either addiction or suicide, why I still had friends, and why, when I grew up some, I found out that I could be okay. That I could start shaping my life to be something better, something happier and more full. I think I also learned that loneliness is largely a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But some nights, old habits crawl back in.

Which, if you know me well, probably explains my taste in music. If I have to relive the worst bits of my life, then the soundtrack should fit, right?

With that introduction, here are a few songs that I’ve been playing today. Enjoy.

I’m not shilling for anyone here--and I’m certainly not getting paid to express my opinion--but I wanted to say a public thanks to Progressive Insurance Company.

Last year, after about fifteen years with MetLife, I decided to shop for a better price on my insurance. Progressive saved me about $300 a year, gave me the same coverage, and every interaction with the company has been a pleasure. My wife, who has been on a multi-car account with her family, just switched her coverage to my account and, in the process, saved us about $400 more per year over her current coverage. Again, the young lady that helped me change the account tonight was tremendously helpful, patient, and a pleasure to talk to--if I had thought to ask her name, I would be commending her to her supervisor.

Point being, Progressive has not only saved me a good chunk of money over the last year, but they’ve given me superb service. It’s not often that I would say something like this, but I’m really liking my insurance company right now.

Their ads, on the other hand, are skipping happily past their sell-by date, aren’t they?

And De Doc shows how we can help.

I know that there are a lot of good charitable organizations that are well worth your dollars. This is where I’ll be donating, though.

Here’s wishing you and yours all the best in 2010. May you find happiness, health, and opportunity.

For the curious, blogging resumes next week. For the incurious, well, it still resumes next week, but you probably won’t much notice.

I have much for which I am thankful. I am thankful for my wife and family (and thankful that my wife was willing to wait so long).

I am thankful for a very short period of unemployment, and, of course, looking forward to proving that I deserve the job I was offered last week. I feel blessed to have found the job as quickly as I did--it seems to be the exception and not the rule right now.

I am thankful for friends--the blogging kind and otherwise--who have enriched my life over this last year.

There is a lot to worry about in a bigger sense, but this is the kind of day where I’m going to focus on the positives while desperately fighting off the tryptophan coma that’s heading my way. Thanks, all, for the part that you’ve played in my life this year.

I am preparing a cover letter and resume for a company who has listed a marketing job that I want. Really want. The thing is that I am only marginally qualified on paper (ridiculously qualified when it comes to capacity to do the job), and, with your help, hoping to shore up one small shortfall: I need some LinkedIn recommends. The company that has posted the listing is hoping to find someone who has been recommended by others--and, like most every other social networking site, I generally ignore LinkedIn unless someone sends me a friend request.

So, back to the point: if those of you who know me, who are in my LinkedIn network, and who genuinely believe I am worth the effort, please do me a favor and give me a recommendation on the site. It’s one of those things that might make the difference between getting an interview and getting a brush-off.

Thanks.

It isn’t entirely finalized (the story is too specific for me to address it all here in public), but it looks like declining revenue is about to kill off one more job.

Mine, that is.

Over lunch today, I was talking about relationships with my co-workers. One of them, who had just gotten married about a month ago, went through relationship classes with his beloved before they were married--classes that were offered through their church and that were aimed at making sure that the couples were well-prepared for what marriage would hold for them. He was explaining something that he had learned about the reasons that men and women argue and fight in relationships. It was something about men needing respect and women needing love.

This overcomplicates things.

“I argue,” I explained, “because I’m right. She argues because she hasn’t yet realized that I’m right. Give her time.”

The consensus seems to be that I might need relationship classes.

On an entirely other note, this is the kind of wisdom you might be able to expect if I can manage to find the equipment, knowledge, time, and will-power to pull off a series of podcasts that I would like to put together. I’ll be looking to put that together after I return from vacation in a couple weeks--if you have any ideas or suggestions, let me know. I already have a few themes that I know I want to discuss, but I’m always open to new concepts.

Some days are, indeed, better than others.

On this day, June 14, 2009:

1. Swiss discovered, unhappily, that another dog was using her sacred pooping grounds. Disappointment was greatly diminished by the gift of a Greenie.
2. Colorado was blessed with more rain and temperate weather…
3. ...along with an impressive thunderstorm, a little hail, and, probably another funnel cloud. Since last weekend, we’ve had something on the order of eight tornados touch down around the area.
4. I spent a beautiful morning driving up to Golden Gate Canyon park near Golden, enjoying the lush scenery. There is a scenic overlook in the park where you have an amazing view of what seems to be the entirety of the Colorado Rockies. If you’ve never been to Colorado, when you do manage to take the trip you should spend half a day hiking some of the paths in the park and then drive up to the overlook. It is, undeniably, one of the most beautiful sights in the world. The pictures on the state site hardly do it justice.
5. And in the park, in a small, very private ceremony, we were pronounced man and wife. And I kissed the bride.
6. Wedding bouquet courtesy of the generous and kind MM.

I got an email from a friend today telling me about the Second Wind Fund, an organization that is working to prevent teen suicide by ensuring that at-risk kids have access to counseling and therapy. It’s a great cause backed up by people who are committed to making a positive change in kids’ lives.

Organizations like this exist because of the generosity of folks like you and me. And while I’m not doing a fundraiser for the folks, if you happen to live in the Denver area, I would like you to know about this small organization that could always use volunteers and donors who believe in their cause. I personally prefer to give--both donations and time--to local charities because I trust them to run leaner and more effectively than the bigger charities (and don’t even get me started on the inefficiency of trusting the government for a handout). If you have that same instinct, check out their Web site to get an idea of who they are.

Thanks to BC (The Anonymous Tipster) for pointing the Second Wind Fund out to me. I might never have heard of them otherwise.

Shooting up a Unitarian church in the name of demented Christian fundamentalism?

An unemployed truck driver seething over liberalism told police he opened fire in a church last year because it harbored gays and multiracial families and he hoped others would follow his example.

Prosecutors opened their case file Thursday on Jim David Adkisson, 58, who pleaded guilty a month ago to killing two people and wounding six others at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in Knoxville. The file includes interviews with investigators and a suicide note Adkisson left in his car.
[...]
“They just glory (in) these weirdos and sickos and homos,” he said in an interview recorded by investigators.

He also railed against the Unitarian Church: “That ain’t a church, that’s a damned cult,” Adkisson said.

The Knoxville church said in a statement Thursday that the congregation was still healing and that many hoped Adkisson would also “be healed of whatever motivated his actions.”

Adkisson walked into the church, pulled a sawed-off shotgun from a guitar case and fired into a congregation of about 230 people watching a children’s musical performance.

I suppose that’s Godly behavior if you’re an adherent of the Fred Phelps Church of the Inbred, Homophobic, Asshole, but for the rest of us it more resembles the real face of evil in the world.

Phelps, his followers, and bastards like Adkisson are going to have a lot to answer if God really does exist.

Read the story.

Oodles of brainpower. That was almost my freakin’ nickname in high school. Probably. Unless it was “uber doodler,” which seems more likely in retrospect.

Experts said doodling stopped people from daydreaming, which was a more taxing diversion, and so was good at helping people focus on mundane tasks.

During the study, half of the volunteers were asked to colour in shapes on a piece of paper while they listened to a 2.5 minute telephone message.

The other half were left to their own devices while they listened. Both groups were told the message would be dull, the Applied Cognitive Psychology journal reported.

Afterwards, both groups were asked to write down eight specific names and eight places mentioned.

The doodlers on average recalled 7.5, while the non-doodlers only managed 5.8.

Eat my intellectual dust, non-doodlers.

Diggit.

I doubt that anyone in Denver--including the journalists and professionals employed by the Rocky--is surprised by the announcement, but the death of the Rocky Mountain News will still be sad to quite a few of us who have read and supported the paper throughout our lives. But today’s announcement of the closure of the Rocky Mountain News was a mere formality: the paper has been struggling for years and on life support for a few months now.

“Today the Rocky Mountain News, long the leading voice in Denver, becomes a victim of changing times in our industry and huge economic challenges,” Rich Boehne, CEO of Cincinnati-based Scripps (NYSE: SSP), said in a statement.

“The Rocky is one of America’s very best examples of what local news organizations need to be in the future. Unfortunately, the partnership’s business model is locked in the past.”

Scripps said that a possible buyer came forward before the Jan. 16 deadline set by Scripps for an offer, but that the buyer was “unable to present a viable plan” for operating the News.

Outside of any dispapointment, though, is the realization that no business plan lasts forever, and a 150 year run is nothing to sneer about. Newspapers have provided a valuable service to us and have been an important part of maintaining our freedoms. I’m a Republican, so seeing the gleefully critical press of the Bush years become the cheerleaders of the Obama years is blunting the sentimental side of me that wants to mourn the Rocky, but it is worth acknowledging the value of having a free press watching over our political class. They have been imperfect guardians and given to their own sometimes-hilarious follies, but that’s just describing people, isn’t it?

If this reads like a Dirge for the Passing of Journalism, there is a reason: freedom of the press has less and less to do with a press or with journalists with every passing month. Much of the old trade of journalism is dying and even the best known syndicated columnists are seeing their opportunities diminish with every newspaper closing, with every report of revenue and circulation drops, and with every regular joe who decides to get his news from somewhere other than nightly news and the morning paper.

And that’s fine. While old journalism dies, opportunities will open for the people smart and clear-eyed enough to see what’s coming next.

Goodbye, Rocky. I’ll miss you (but, then, I’ve been missing you for years).

Read the story.

This will be sticky for the next week.

Is there anyone out there reading this site who is, currently, an operator of a coal or hard rock mining operation (preferably in North America, but I’m willing to talk to people outside of NA, too) with expertise in haulage and loading? This is not aimed at folks working in the aggregates industry and it is not aimed at manufacturers or distributors (although you are invited to leave me a note too, as you might be able to help me in a different way). If you do fit that description, please leave a comment with a good email address as I have very specific set of questions that I need to ask.

I can’t elaborate any more than that here because I’m already perilously close to violating my own set of rules governing how I segment my business life from my blogging life, but this is important.

For regular readers who don’t fit that bill, please link this or pass it on to anyone who you think might fit what I’m looking for.

Thanks.

Our friend Nathan will be spending quality time in Iraq soon.

Stay safe, Nathan, and for your and your family’s sacrifices on behalf of the rest of us, thank you.

Darling girl had a bad weekend. A very bad weekend. While I don’t feel comfortable sharing her personal information--and won’t--with the class, I will say that I would appreciate it if those of you who are so inclined would keep her in your prayers and your thoughts.

Personally, I feel like I could use a drink. Which is usually a good sign that I shouldn’t have one.

And Wheels is in a tough spot, too. Keep him in your thoughts, too, and if you have any job leads that would suit him I’m sure that he would appreciate the leads.

I don’t do this every year, but this year I’m feeling extra thanks-y. For what am I thankful?

I am thankful that the war in Iraq has become something that the newspapers rarely put on the front page. The military and political situation has improved so dramatically over the last year that it is almost unbelievable. Here’s to Iraq and her future; I hope that it is bright, free, and friendly.

I am thankful for the 18 women who turned themselves in after being convinced that suicide bombings are not acceptable expressions of Islamic faith. I am thankful for the lives that have been spared and i hope we see more follow their example.

I am thankful for my darling girl who is patient and kind and wonderful. Even if she does try to bully me into snuggling with her while I’m busy writing my Thanksgiving day post.

I am thankful to be gainfully employed in a difficult economy. And I hope I stay that way.

I am thankful for the fact that I live in America where I have always had opportunities that throughout much of the rest of the world I would never have enjoyed. We are, in large part, a spoiled, pampered, and materially wealthy people--and, in large part, we have earned the wealth that keeps us fat and happy. Hopefully we won’t forget the work, the spirit, and the sacrifice that went into building our national riches and helped create our opportunities.

I am thankful, in the extreme, for my friends and their understanding of my quirks and my frequent silence.

I am thankful for the men and women who serve in our military with honor and dignity and for their families who often sacrifice more than anyone should ever be asked. What they do for the rest of us (and it is hard to explain just how important the term “serve” is to the grand majority of folks that I’ve known in the military--it isn’t just a word, it’s a philosophy of being that accepts that the highest calling is in service to something greater than one’s self) is nothing short of heroic.

I am thankful for the handful of people who still drop by to read this site.

I am thankful that I missed Rosie Live--and I’ll be more thankful still if her new show fails in a dramatic and newsworthy way. Which might be violating the spirit of Thanksgiving, but still…

I am thankful for good music. Of particular note this year are the Gutter Twin’s brilliant little EP, Adorata, Lizz Wright’s gorgeous album, The Orchard, and Wovenhand’s latest gospel gothic masterpiece, Ten Stones.

And, of course, I’m thankful for the extra two days off, the good food, and the extra football. Which almost goes without saying.

Update: I’m also thankful that someone wrote this post. Nicely done.

And more anti-Rosie sentiment hits a hight note for me, too.

Kolkata is overcrowded, filthy, and, sometimes, mighty smelly. It is loud, bustling with life, oddly complacent about its poverty, yet showing a heightened sense of entrepreneurial spirit at that lowest rung. And my first days, after being driven from the airport, were spent in impressive luxury--all of the rest of Kolkata was distant noise beyond the gates and walls.

The Kolkata Hyatt Regency is simply one of the nicest hotels I’ve ever enjoyed. The rooms are beautiful, the food often magnificent, the service irritatingly impeccable.

“Irritatingly?” you might ask. Indeed. While there is something nice about being treated well, I am, at heart, a regular guy. I like my bartenders funny and boisterous, in particular. The bar staff at the KHR were competent, the selection of fine alcohols was admirable, but it took a while to get them to let down a little. The first night was, “What would sir enjoy this evening?” The second night was, “Since sir enjoys vodkas, may I suggest Ciroc?” Which, incidentally, made me happy; I keep a bottle at home and it’s a remarkably smooth little drink. By the end of the second night, though, I had them explaining cricket, drawing me diagrams to punctuate their lessons, and then shocking me with their passion for the soap opera drama of US pro wrestling.

If I make the trip again, I’ll lobby to stay at the Hyatt again. It was a little like heaven, to be honest, even if it hardly conveyed the flavor of Kolkata. I’m not one to wallow in unrelenting trash and poverty, though; for those folks, other accommodations would be in order.

Clicking on the pictures will take you to Picasa. You can see the larger versions there.