By KINKY FRIEDMAN:

(Original Post found at the New York Post online.)


April 15, 2007 -- Author, musician and former Texas gubernatorial candidate Kinky Friedman has been friends with Don Imus since 1975, when they met on stage at The Bottom Line.
I MET Imus on the gangplank of Noah's Ark. He was then and remains today a truth-seeking missile with the best bull-meter in the business.
Far from being a bully, he was a spiritual chop-buster never afraid to go after the big guys with nothing but the slingshot of ragged integrity. I watched him over the years as he struggled with his demons and conquered them. This was not surprising to me.
Imus came from the Great Southwest, where the men are men and the emus are nervous. And he did it all with something that seems, indeed, to be a rather scarce commodity these days. A sense of humor.
There's no excusing Imus' recent ridiculous remark, but there's something not kosher in America when one guy gets a Grammy and one gets fired for the same line.
The Matt Lauers and Al Rokers of this world live by the cue-card and die by the cue-card; Imus is a rare bird, indeed - he works without a net. When you work without a net as long as Imus has, sometimes you make mistakes.
Wavy Gravy says he salutes mistakes. They're what makes us human, he claims. And humanity beyond doubt, is what appears to be missing from this equation. If we've lost the ability to laugh at ourselves, to laugh at each other, to laugh together, then the PC world has succeeded in diminishing us all.
Political correctness, a term first used by Joseph Stalin, has trivialized, sanitized and homogenized America, transforming us into a nation of chain establishments and chain people.
Take heart, Imus. You're merely joining a long and legendary laundry list of individuals who were summarily sacrificed in the name of society's sanctimonious soul: Socrates, Jesus, Galileo, Joan of Arc, Mozart and Mark Twain, who was decried as a racist until the day he died for using the N-word rather prolifically in "Huckleberry Finn."
Speaking of which, there will always be plenty of Al Sharptons and Jesse Jacksons around. There will be plenty of cowardly executives, plenty of fair-weather friends, and plenty of Jehovah's Bystanders, people who believe in God but just don't want to get involved. In this crowd, it could be argued that we need a Don Imus just to wake us up once in a while.
There probably isn't a single one of Imus' vocal critics who come anywhere close to matching his record of philanthropy or good acts on this earth.
Judge a man by the size of his enemies, my father used to say. A man who, year after year, has raised countless millions of dollars and has fought hand-to-hand to combat against childhood cancer, autism, and SIDS - well, you've got a rodeo clown who not only rescues the cowboy, but saves the children as well.
I believe New York will miss its crazy cowboy and America will miss the voice of a free-thinking independent-minded, rugged individualist. I believe MSNBC will lose many viewers and CBS radio many listeners.
Too bad for them. That's what happens when you get rid of the only guy you've got who knows how to ride, shoot straight and tell the truth.

More Miller

Yet another clipping from Donald Miller:

"Houston makes you feel that life is about the panic and the resolution of the panic, and nothing more. Nobody stops to question whether they actually need the house and the car and the better job. And because of this there doesn't seem to be any peace; there isn't any serenity. We can't see the stars in Houston anymore, we can't go to the beach without stepping on a coke bottle, we can't hike in the woods, because there aren't any more woods. We can only panic about the clothes we wear, panic about the car we drive, sit stuck in traffic and panic about whether or not the guy who cut us off respects us. We want to kill him, for crying out loud, and all the while we feel a need for new furniture and a new television and a bigger house in the right neighborhood. We drive around in a trance, salivating for Starbucks while that great heaven sits above us, and that beautiful sunrise is happening in the desert, and all those mountains out West are collecting snow on the limbs of their pines, and all those leaves are changing color our East. God, it is so beautiful, it is so quiet, it is so perfect. It makes you feel, perhaps for a second, that Paul gets it and we don't - that if you live in a van and get up for sunrise and cook your own food on a fire and stop caring about whether your car breaks down or whether you have fashionable clothes or whether or not people do or do not like you, that you have broken through, that you have shut your ear to the bombardment of lies that never, ever stop whispering in your ear. And maybe this is why he seems so different to me, because he has become a human who no longer believes the commercials are true, which, perhaps, is what a human was designed to be."

West Coast Living

I definitely needed to read this. . . .

I’m at a conference of peers for the week in California. So I’ve been bearing my cross in the mountains and on the slopes. I love Texas, but I could see myself becoming a mountain man. I think it would be an easy transition, in fact. . . .I’ve already adjusted to small-town life. This would just be a small town with frequent tire-chain requirements.

I feel I’ll be back into this on a regular basis soon. The need to expunge comes on fast sometimes. I mean, really now, can you ever actually control the muse? It just sort of happens. My wife would say I bottle up emotion, but, to be honest, it feels more like I just need time to process things before unleashing the fury.

Back again

So this was pretty funny.

Good Reality

I'll be a fan of this show from day one.

Creatures of Habit

From "The Innovator"

Hiram was a good man - a good farmer too. The crops had paid off well at the last harvest, and he and his wife felt quite snug and secure in their little home now that winter was coming on.

Only one thing bothered Hiram - the old barn. Its roof was leaky, there were a few boards rotted off the sides, and the dirt floor was uneven so that puddles collected when it rained and soon turned into indoor quagmires. Hiram was a sensitive soul, who really loved his animals, and he winced to remember last winter when the worst storm blew sleet right through the old barn from one end to the other. The horses' water froze solid, and the little calves had ugly yellow icicles hanging from their muzzles.

Rising from his chair so quickly that he startled his wife, Hiram went to the phone and called Moco Edwards.

"That new barn I was talking to you about?" he reminded Moco. "I want it. Start right away so's it'll be finished before real cold weather sets in."

Nothing had pleased Hiram quite so much in a long time as watching the new barn go up. It pleased Moco too, because Hiram had insisted that nothing but the best materials and workmanship go into it. He and his wife were going to be mighty comfortable this winter in their house, Hiram reasoned, so why shouldn't his animals be comfortable too? He had even had a thermostatically controlled heater installed.

As it happened, the finishing touches on the new barn were completed just the day before the first cold snap was due to hit. An orderly man who liked to do things one clear step at a time, Hiram had Moco's workmen tear down the old barn that very day, leaving nothing but the outline of the old foundation.

That night Hiram proudly ushered his animals into their new home and pulled the doors shut, warm and tight. In his warm bed Hiram enjoyed not having to worry about his animals, and not feeling guilty about them being in a cold, drafty barn while he was in a snug house.

Next morning Hiram and the Mrs. set out early for town, leaving the barn doors open for the animals in case it should turn bad. While they were in town the wind began to blow, it began to rain, and the temperature dropped to freezing, turning the rain into sleet. Hiram didn't feel a bit uneasy, though, thinking of his cattle and horses filing into the new barn.

When they returned to the farm early that evening, Hiram went out to the barn. When his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness of the warm inside, he saw that there wasn't a single animal there.

Puzzled and frightened he ran outside to scan the fields, seeing nothing. Then, behind the barn he saw all his animals. Miserable, huddled together, with drifts of sleet and snow heaped upon their backs, his cattle and horses stodd within the vague outline of the foundation where the old barn had once stood.

Time to Catch Up

Been some time. . . . .I know.

When you're out of posting for awhile you want your comeback to be brilliant. So without brilliance it takes even longer. I had thought about a "Top Ten Best Things About Living in La Grange", but I could only come up with a few.

1. I filled up my car a month ago, and still have half a tank.
2. Wall Mart sells hay.
3. HEB sells deer corn and Salt Licks.
4. We're halfway to anywhere.
5. I can burn things in my backyard.

That's it for now. Things have been pretty busy lately getting into a new routine. But a normal day for me doesn't look so normal anymore.

-Peace-

Today's Communion

I noticed the hands serving me bread today were the same hands that touched the ground in Vietnam.

I noticed the man kneeling next to me is the same man who struggled with his sexuality for so many years, and now considers himself 'healed'.

I noticed the three brothers and the quiet father who stares with that sadness you can just feel when you see it. David is the oldest of the brothers.

I noticed a family of six sitting the pews. Five went forward while the father stayed behind.

I noticed the man who told me about his angel in WWII. The one that knocked him off his feet just seconds before a piece of shrapnel cut through his tent; his head in its path. I once wrote about him and his wife here.

I noticed the man who wants to be my financial advisor. We're having lunch on Thursday and I'll again have to tell him that "I'll think about it" in that tone of voice that really says "no thanks."

I noticed the young man who first came to our church because it was in his neighborhood and he figured it was some kind of omen.

I noticed the girl who had, moments before, looked into my eyes and asked "why are you leaving?"

Green Acres

Starting July 6th, I'll be the new Program Director at Camp Lone Star.

Most of my days last week were spent letting the church know I would be leaving. Exciting times, but hard nonetheless. Sarah and I grew up at camp, so in some ways we feel like we're going home. Most of the folks in our church were sad to hear we'd be leaving, but excited about the new ministry. Pastor has been great as well. . .Making sure I know I'll be missed, but wanting us to know how happy he is for the church at large. What a guy.

So after this summer come on out to La Grange and we'll have a moonpie up on the water tower. There's still plenty of Big Red too, so don't worry.

Miller

Finished Blue Like Jazz last week. Great read. I'm working on Donald Millers next book "Searching for God Knows What". So far it's just as good as Jazz and reads in a similar way.


"Some would say formulas are how we interact with God, that going through motions and jumping through hoops are how a person acts out his spirituality. This method of interaction, however, seems odd to me, because if I want to hang out with my friend Tuck, I don't stomp my foot three times, turn around, and say his name over and over like a mantra, lighting candles and getting myself in a certain mood. I just call him. In this way, formulas presuppose God is more a computer or a circus monkey than an intelligent Being."

Oh to quote

Overheard at The Village Church:

"Good things, like lidocain on a wound, will numb us to the reality of our heart. Why do you think we're all so busy? What, success? Please; Pipe dream. Most of you are walking in wealth that when you were in college you could have never dreamed of. And yet you're still working for wealth? No I don't think so. . .I think you're working to quiet your soul."

. . . like . . .

On a couple inadvertent recommendations I picked up a new read. After Rich talked about it I figured enough was enough and I had to see what the fuss was about.

In case you can't read the subtitle, it says:
"nonreligious thoughts on christian spirituality"

So far it's been a good read. And as Chandler said, "if you're a linear thinker, this book will drive you crazy." It's just one of those books that sits well with me, because I hope it's how I would write, if I were to write more than a paragraph or two at a time. It's random, sporadic, and wonderful.

Revenge of the Nerds

Saw it last night. It was amazing. Go see it.

College?

Controversy time.

Followers of the NBA know David Stern is pushing a minimum age requirement to play in the league. The NBA's collective bargaining agreement expires June 30.......two days after the draft. At that time, Stern wants the age limit raised to 20.

Everyone's all over the place on this issue. On one hand we want to say that going to college is the end-all maturation process, so we should be encouraging young folks to go and stay as long as they can. College ball helps in player development, and keeps an 18 year old from entering a mans world of high dollars and little responsibility.

On the other hand, it's a hard case to sell for a young man and his family when he knows he could be making multi-millions next year, instead of studying for chem101.

"[F]rom 1995 to 2003, over 80 percent of drafted high school players became, or will become multi-millionaires by the age of 21, or how they have maximized their earning potential by gaining the ability to become unrestricted free agents -- when as many as 30 teams bid for their services -- by the tender age of 22, when, coincidentally, some of their counterparts will graduate from college and become bound by the nearly non-negotiable rookie salary scale for three to five years.

[M]ost players who skip college may earn as much as $100 million more over the course of their careers than if they had done the "smart thing" and earned a college diploma . . . [H]igh school players who enter the NBA Draft are a small, self-selected group, comprised almost entirely of exceptionally talented players. Simply put, for every Korleone Young, there are two or three Kobe Bryants."

Taken from Illegal Defense: The Irrational Economics of Banning High School Players From the NBA Draft, an article that appeared in 2004 in Sports Law Review.

I think it's a hard case to make. Hardest if you imagine it being your own kid. It's easy to look at some high school senior on TV and just say 'go to college, it's best.' But imagine it's your own son who has to weigh the options. On one hand, he goes to college and risks injury for the sake of game and life development. On the other hand, he enters the NBA, and in one year potentially seals his own financial future. (Yours too; and your grandkids, and their grandkids, etc. . . .) I think taking time to mature is a necessity, but who's to say that maturation can't take place on the court? I'm no money-hungry advocate, but if your product earns money, so be it. The old model told us that we go to college to get a good job, so we can earn money. In this case, it's a moot point; Going to college actually stifles wage-earning.
Also, the claim that a busted NBA career leaves little to know options for a high school draftee is ridiculous. It goes something like this: "If your pro career fails, what else is there to do without a college degree?" Give me a break. . . . .The response is simple. If you enter the NBA out of high school, you're not making $10 an hour. . . . you're banking. Take advantage of that bank roll and put yourself through college later, if you like. Or sit back and live on your earned wages. (Note to Carmelo: Don't blow it all on the bling, you might need a little something to retire on.)


The biggest issue is that the new age requirement wouldn't send potential pros to college like all the NCAA fanatics are drooling for. It would send them to the NBA's developmental league, the NBDL, which it's hoping to expand to 15 teams. Two NBA teams splitting each developmental roster. Do you really think the NBA wants to risk their potential money-makers futures by letting them get hurt in college?


Oh yeah, one last thing. . . .Check out this gem of a quote from Jermaine O'Neil about the whole thing:
"As a black guy, you kind of think that's the reason why it's coming up. You don't hear about it in baseball or hockey. To say you have to be 20, 21 to get in the league, it's unconstitutional. If I can go to the U.S. Army and fight the war at 18, why can't you play basketball for 48 minutes?"

Right Jermaine, it's unconstitutional. Well, if you want to bring that up, what about some affirmative action to balance out the lack of white guys in jerseys? Oh wait, I guess that's for another discussion. . . . .

Viva American Christianity

So today was a mothers day thing in our preschool. Moms were invited to our chapel service, and then there's a luncheon afterwards. Pastor would usually lead chapel for mothers day, but he's out of town, so I got to do it. It's a fun time. I love little kids, they're hilarious because you never know what's going to come out of their mouths. Some people fear this. Others love it and love to watch moms get embarressed by something their kid said to the pastor man. (Don't worry mom, she's only 4, she doesn't know any better.) Anyhow, on to the point. . .

After chapel a mom came up and asked me for some of the differences in lutheran and episcopal churches. She noticed our tagline at the end of the 'our father' and knew something was up. I thought for a moment and then tried to quickly sum up a few differences in doctrine, and the whole 'ordained bishop' thing that lutherans don't follow. The moment I said the word 'theology', though, she quickly cut me off and said:

"No I just mean on Sunday morning. What's different?"

Welcome to American Christianity.