Vinsetta Garage - The Restaurant

When Woodward's legendary Vinsetta Garage closed its doors a little while back, it was a sad day for me.

But making a cool restaurant out of it seems as good a thing to do with the space as anything.

It's only about 2 miles from my house, so I'm sure I will get a chance to eat there after it opens!

Read about it here.

Atheists and Spaghetti

I am puzzled and amused about the fixation of Atheists with spaghetti.

Of course, their references to the Flying Spaghetti Monster are legion.

Just yesterday, an Atheist on facebook "proved" to me that God is a bowl of spaghetti.

Given the logical equivalence of believing in the two, you would think they'd be puzzled by the huge number of people who worship God, and the miniscule (i.e., zero) number who worship spaghetti.  But I guess Atheism just makes you stupid.

A Blog I Will Be Following - Heather Policky.

I've just (re)discovered the blog of IFBB Professional Bodybuilder Heather Marie (Armbrust) Policky.

It is rare that anyone is so transparent as Heather is in this entry.

Check it out!

Me, Kate Upton, Carl's Jr., the AFA and Sex.

My wife and I have had a long and storied history with the American Family Association.  We go back so far with this organization, in fact, that we pre-date its current name.  It used to be called the National Federation for Decency, and Cindy and I founded an NFD Chapter in Humble, Texas, back in the 1980s.

Our Chapter meetings were interesting, because a lot of "characters" showed up, not all of who had the same notion of decency.  Once, a fellow showed up who was a conspiracy theorist.  He believed that television was evil, because the government had secretly turned every TV receiver into a combination camera and transmitter.  They used it to spy on the citizenry.  If we were watching the TV, the government was watching us.

Another guy showed up just once, a European.  He didn't really hold to our and the NFD's idea that "decency" inheres in the absence of smut.  He had ideas about how people ought to treat other people decently, that kind of thing.  Since then, I have often wished that I had really had the ability to listen to him that evening.  Sometimes, I even wonder if we entertained an angel unawares.

The guy who ran the regional NFD organization was kind of nutcase Fundamentalist.  But maybe so was I; I had not yet discovered Anglicanism and become a nutcase Anglican.  This pastor held a Rally for Decency in Civil Society, or some such thing, which  Cindy and I attended.  The onliest thing about that was that the pastor's definition of decency was basically that women should not wear shorts, and Cindy wore shorts to the rally that day.  We both felt like the guest at the wedding feast who had crashed the party without the proper clothing.  At this rally, the pastor also told us that the Bible defined "nakedness" as any skin being visible above the knee.  We went out later that week and bought Cindy some new, very long jogging shorts, cut ridiculously below the knee, so that she should not be seen running around the small Texas town "naked".

We eventually realized that the Humble Chapter of the NFD was going nowhere, so we dropped out of active participation.  But we still read the NFD/AFA magazine and supported their boycots where we could.

It was still in the 1980s when my thinking started to depart from that of Don Wildmon and the AFA.  I remember that the AFA magazine had featured an editorial by Tim Wildmon, Don's son, about the absolute scandal of bumper stickers on which was written "Shit Happens".  He objected to the coarse language.  I fired off a letter to Tim Wildmon, letting him know that he had missed the point entirely!  I told him that his objection should have been that the bumper sticker denies two basic truths of Christianity:  God's sovereignty and man's responsibility.  By stating that "Shit Happens" the bumper sticker leaves God out of the picture.  It also purports to give man an excuse for his own misdeeds.  Curiously, I never heard back from Wildmon or the AFA.

But I promised you Kate Upton and Carl's Jr., didn't I?  Today, I received an email from the AFA, asking me to boycot Carl's Jr. and Hardee's for running the following "sordid titillation" ...



I guess that since leaving the AFA and buying Cindy some regular length jogging shorts (she has great legs!) I have gone over to the dark side, but I am somehow not shocked or even titillated by the Kate Upton commercial.  Maybe I'm just getting old.  It did make me want a hamburger, I will admit.

Using sexy girls to promote products has been done for a very long time.  I'm sorry to tell Mr. Wildmon and the AFA, but I think they lost this battle at least as early as 1950 ...

The Automotive Art of Ed Tillrock

We ran into some really fine visual artists at Detroit Autorama this year.  I would like to feature two of them on this blog.

The first of these is pencil artist Ed Tillrock.  His stuff is just mind-blowingly good.  His reflections are especially strong.  See what you think.  He does non-automotive subjects, too, chiefly architectural, but I will feature only a sampling of his automotive art here.

Insights for Life from The Nutty Professor (1963)

I remember once speaking with an elderly woman on the way out of church.  The congregation had just finished singing Amazing Grace, and she commented to me that this hymn seemed to her as something of inestimable depth.  She made this comment:

"Every time we sing Amazing Grace, I notice something new in it that I had not seen before!"

While I was unable to concur with her regarding this hymn (everything I ever got out of it seemed evident to me on first hearing), I do feel that way about the Jerry Lewis film, The Nutty Professor (1963).  I watched it again last night, after an interval of perhaps eight years.

One thing that had not impacted me as much on earlier viewings was the way in which bodybuilding, as it later developed, eventually answered all the yearnings of the weakling Professor Julius Kelp.  In the movie, before he invents his magical androgenic formula, he tries bodybuilding for six months.  He joins Vic Tanny's gym and begins to lift weights.

But, alas, Professor Kelp is not very gifted at bodybuilding. He begins his regimen at a weight of 153 pounds, and ends his six-month effort at a weight of 151. It is then that he turns to chemistry to make him the man that he wants to be. It was no different in real life, for during this same time period, bodybuilders were discovering the wonders of Anabolic-Androgenic Steroids (AAS).

That's on the physical side of things.  But the Nutty Professor is much more about spiritual and inner things.  The Julius Kelp / Buddy Love dichotomy is fascinating.  It sets up for us a choice between Professor Kelp (weak, ineffectual, debilitatingly verbose, self-effacing, self-doubting, inept, awkward, clumsy) and his lounge lizard couterpart Buddy Love (arrogant, rude, self-absorbed, narcissistic, strong, confident, talented, smooth, suave).

To be honest, I've often found myself vacillating between these two poles.  Sometimes, I am very confident in my talent and usefulness, and even in my virtue.  But then I fail at something rather badly, or fully notice a previous failure for the first time.  And suddenly I am converted from my Buddy Love mode to my Julius Kelp mode.  I become apologetic, self-doubting, ineffectual, and self-effacing.  It lasts a while, after which the temporary humility (if that's even what it is) wears off, and I begin to be confident and arrogant again.

I find that weekly church attendance can regularize this oscillation.  It is necessary, in approaching the weekly eucharistic Sacrament, to humble oneself.  But sometimes, on Monday morning, all bets are off.  I roar to work in my fast car in full, blazing Buddy Love Mode.  So that while weekly participation in the Mass may control the periodicity of the fluctuations, it seems not to eliminate them.  I find myself to be either Professor Kelp or Buddy Love most of the time.

At some point, though, one gets tired of both these characters.  At the end of the film, Kelp's student and Love's admirer, Stella Purdy, marries Professor Kelp.  But she makes sure to bring a few bottles of his magic formula with her to the honeymoon.  She wants the option of choosing which guy to be with.  Each has certain advantages,  but also glaring disadvantages.

There must be a third way.  And there is.  It is not (as G. K. Chesterton would certainly tell us) an averaging of the personalities of Dr. Kelp and Buddy Love.  It is holding the best features of each in dynamic tension.  And this third way is (do I even need to tell you?) Jesus Christ.

Jesus Christ, like Buddy Love, is subject to control by no other man.  He is strong, confident, and teaches as one with authority.  He is able to silence fools and send bullies packing.  But, like Professor Kelp, he is humble and engaged in humble service of others.  He is a man who not only possesses authority, but is one under authority.  One passage that points out this dual role is John 10:17-18:

The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life—only to take it up again.  No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again.

Jesus Christ has the strength and authority, the confident manhood, of Buddy Love, raised to the umpteenth power.  But he uses it in humble service to humanity.  Those who would resolve the Kelp/Love dilemma in their own lives must seek the way of Christ.

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.