A Wild Dream

Last night, I had a wild dream.  But unlike most of my dreams, I expect this one to have some sort of lasting effect on me, because of the power with which it was infused.

In the dream, I was sitting in what seemed to be an Episcopal Church.  It was packed.  The congregation was racially diverse.  There seemed to be a 50/50 split between men and women.  And there were some children in the congregation also.  What I didn't really notice until later is that everyone seemed to be dressed up in suits and dresses from perhaps the late 1940s.

There seemed to be no preacher, but parishioners were taking turns ascending to the top of the chancel steps and addressing the church.  They were "testifying" ... telling what the Lord had done for them.  I heard one or two brief testimonies of the usual variety (e.g., God gave me a job this week, God healed my sister).  Then a shabbily dressed man climbed the stairs and began to speak in an emotional voice.  The congregation got a bit quieter to listen, seeming to sense something different about to happen.  The man had a full dress suit on, but it was worn and dirty.  He held a hat of questionable provenance in his left hand as he talked.  He began to speak.

"I'm sixty years old.  I've made a complete wreck out of my life. Everything I've ever dreamed has turned to dust.  My life has been one bad decision after another, nothing but wrong turns.  I wish I could say what the Lord has done for me, but I can't.  I'm giving up now.  I'm quitting.  I thought you would want to know."

The man stood silent, fumbling with his worn hat in both hands, apparently trying to figure out what to do next, now that he had got his message out.  The congregation was completely hushed.  I counted three seconds of silence before a little girl of perhaps six stood up behind me and to my left.  She shouted at him,

"Wait!  Don't give up, Mister!  I asked you into my heart, and it changed my life.  I believe in you!"

There was only about one second of silence after she said this, but my mind was reeling.  I was thinking of all that was wrong, heretical, and humanistic about the little girl's speech.  

"Nobody can be our Savior except Jesus!"
"That's idolatrous ... asking some other mere human into our hearts."
"What a ridiculous thing:  putting our faith in another mere human."

 The silence was broken decisively by someone absolutely tearing into a bass beat on a piano.  It was a barrelhouse blues style, and I thought:  "Yep, it is an Episcopal Church."  The piano part was a series of four descending notes, twice repeated.  And then, power and fury rocked the church.  As the piano neared the end of its eight introductory notes, everyone in the congregation stood and sang very loudly:

"Eucharist!  Eucharist!

You shall not dare to eat,

Until you see Lord Jesus

In every man you meet!"

It was wild.  They were all professional caliber singers.  The music was like that of an old black spiritual, and I felt suddenly that I was in the middle of a Broadway musical.  I looked around for movie cameras, to see if this was being filmed.  The song rolled on (I could write more lyrics, but I'd be inventing them at this point), supported by the boogie-woogie piano playing.  People started clapping their hands.  Even the white people clapped on the backbeat.

I was thinking:  "Okay, I get it.  This is one of those Episcopal Church "inclusivity" things, and they're filming a commercial to try and make me recognize some spark of the divine in every living soul.  Or maybe these are some really rocking Quakers, trying to convince me of the doctrine of the Inner Light.  It seemed a humanistic (that's a bad word where I come from, in case you were wondering) message to me.  Sure, I've heard sermons (even from non-heretical preachers) indicating that I should treat all people as I would treat Jesus.  It's written right there into the Lord's own words in his narration of Judgment Day.

Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?

When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?

Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?

And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. 

But I felt that I knew manipulation when I saw it. And this just seemed very manipulative, very theatrical.

But the more the music went on, the more I believed that God was trying to get something across to me.  I noticed that I was the only one that wasn't singing, who didn't know the song.  It certainly seemed that I was the intended audience.

I don't know how long the song went on before I woke up, but it was one of those "woke up in a cold sweat" moments.  Something powerful had been shown to me.  I will ponder it often.

Auricular Confession and Bodybuilding Coaching

In my early days of competitive bodybuilding, I saw many competitors who trained other, lesser-experienced competitors for contests.  I myself hired trainers to guide me in preparing for my contests.  I got to know the names of quite a few local trainers.

But after a while, I noticed something odd:  these same trainers, when it came time for them to compete, hired trainers for themselves.  I thought it odd because I reasoned that if these individuals were strong, wise, experienced, smart, and good enough to guide others, could they not guide themselves?  Sort of a twist on the Biblical injunction:  "Physician, heal thyself!"

But as I thought about it more, it made sense.  Bodybuilding contest prep is not an easy thing.  The severe diet and exercise regimens mess with your mind.  Substantially.  Even if you are experienced, you may not be the most objective decision-maker regarding your own conditioning and regarding the necessary actions to take to perfect it.  You need an outside set of eyes to help you see where your shortfalls are, where improvements can be made, and what to do in the way of a remedy for any lack.

After a long time, it struck me that the situation is like Auricular Confession within the church.  My naive view of bodybuilding coaches was akin to saying that certainly priests, being holy and good, and able to hear others' confessions, would not need themselves to confess!  It is laughable, of course, and helps point out my mistake regarding the bodybuilding coaches.

Priests confess, bishops confess, and even the Pope confesses.  And professional  bodybuilders, every one of whom has been victorious in high-level amateur competition, still have coaches.

The Anti-Trailer Queen!

In the car hobby, "Trailer Queen" is the phrase chosen to describe a car so perfectly finished and so clean (at least in the eyes of its owner) that it is never driven on the street.  It rides to shows on a trailer, preferably of the enclosed variety.

But for the past 10 to 15 years, a backlash against Trailer Queens has sprung up.  It is a back-to-roots kind of thing, fueled by the popularity of traditionally constructed rods and customs, as well as the so-called "rat rods", which are vehicles which are left without finished paint.

At the 2012 Detroit Autorama, we saw a beautiful bug-green custom that looked clean enough to be a trailer queen.  But, it was in the basement of Autorama, with the "rat rod" crowd.  Only later did my son find this photo of the same car, towing a beautiful gold hot rod.

So, not only is this beautiful lead sled not transported on a trailer, but itself is used as a tow vehicle.  Bitchin'!!  I wish I knew who owned these cars, so I could give proper credit.  If I see them at any of the shows this summer, I will find out the owners' names.  Below are photos I took of the cars at Autorama, before finding the photo above.

Meeting Dean Jeffries

Yesterday, at the 2012 Detroit Autorama, my son and I met one of our custom car design heroes, Dean Jeffries. Dean was at Autorama with one of his most spectacular (and earliest) creations, the Mantaray:

Dean was very gracious in spending so much time with us, and eventually my son Eliot got up the courage to ask to have his picture taken with our hero.

 

Besides building the Mantaray (which appeared in one of my favorite films, Bikini Beach) Dean Jeffries also built the Black Beauty car from the Green Hornet TV Series, and the Monkeemobile from the Monkees TV show.

And then, just when we thought it couldn't get any better, Eliot mentioned to Mr. Jeffries that he was training to be a car designer, that Mr. Jeffries had influenced him from a very early age, and asked him if he would sign a page of Eliot's sketch book.  He did!

Thanks, Dean!  It was GREAT to meet you!

Frost Fighter - Supreme Customer Service!

I blogged back here about adding a rear window defroster to my 1962 Mercury Meteor.  Not only was it a great addition to the vehicle, but it allowed me to interact with a great company ... Frost Fighter!

When I had some issues with my installation, these guys went the extra mile to make things right.  It seems rare these days that a company values its customers, but these guys do!

THANKS!

What Are They Putting in the Water in Oslo!?!?!

I don't know what they are putting in the water in Oslo, Norway, but it needs to be introduced into the water supply everywhere!  Starting with Metro Detroit.  Why?

To answer this question, merely consider:

Exhibit A - The Launderettes

Exhibit B - The Cocktail Slippers

Amazing girl group rock, the way it is supposed to sound!

Support music like this!  Economic support of great music is the only way to get more of it.

Wendell Scott

I had been planning to have a whole series of blog posts for Black History Month.  But for various reasons, that does not look likely to happen at this point.  But I didn't want February to go by without at least commending to you this film biography of Wendell Scott, the first (dare I say "the only") successful black driver in NASCAR.



What Scott accomplished is absolutely mind-boggling.  He started racing in the early 1950s, a decade before the civil rights movement heated up in America.  About four decades before NASCAR successfully moved beyond its roots as a regional Southern sport to become a national phenomenon.  He knew what he wanted and he didn't let anything stop him.  He faced tremendous persecution, marched into the heart of the beast (of white racism), and got what he wanted.