The Walking Dead Voters

So it's the end of the world. You think you got bit by a zombie. On your hand. You believe it's only a matter of time before you become a zombie. But you aren't sure.

Do you cut it off? Do you do nothing and risk it? And you have two people with you. One of them is great with a knife, but the knife is dirty and rusty and could cause more infection, and they also seem pretty damn eager to cut.

Another one is more cautious; they don't want to do anything because they need better equipment, more time to assess the situation, and know there is a risk of bleeding out. So they tourniquet your arm to slow down the circulation.

And of course there is always someone who says you can just cut it off yourself, but you are not good with a knife and you will probably pass out in the process.

And this is what voting for a presidential candidate is like. It seems incredibly urgent, world-changing, life-saving and most of all, incredibly divisive.

But just remember, a zombie didn't bite you because zombies aren't real. It's not the end of the world. And no human being decides your future.

But still, you should vote.

Population: 438

From Chicago Tribune:

Late Sunday night, an intruder broke through the front door of Bariffe's Princeton Park residence and fatally shot him inside the kitchen, police said. His slaying marked a grim milestone: the 435th homicide in Chicago this year, tying the total number of killings for all of 2011 with more than two months still to go in 2012.

Less than half a day later and about six miles away, Carlos Alexander was returning home Monday from buying a newspaper and coffee when he was gunned down outside his apartment in the gang-infested South Chicago neighborhood, pushing the homicide total past the 2011 mark.

Two more slayings were reported Monday evening, bringing the total number of homicides so far this year to 438.

When I began this post on October 29, the death toll was at 435. Since that time this article was updated because the number of deaths escalated.

Since I have moved to the Chicago area, it has been hard to get used to homicides as a daily occurrence. I try to keep up on the news, so I review the Chicago Tribune almost daily as well as my local news in Skokie.  I even review RedEye's homicide map to see where these homicides are occurring. As you can see, most of the homicides are in south and southwest parts of Chicago. This really doesn't take into account the suburbs. I don't know if there is a map out there that does. In fact, I would wager that when/if murders occur in the suburbs occur, you hear about it nationwide. When many of the murders occur in the city, they usually, but not always, only make local news headlines.

The police are trying new tactics on dealing with neighborhoods that have a lot of gun-related violence, and I believe a lot of this involves working with the community, trying to oust the gangs. Chicago is still a gang town, though. In fact, I have done some web-related-research on the gangs. I came across a website devoted to Chicago Gangs, but I don't know how recently it's been updated. Here's a link to a map of all the gangs just on the north side of Chicago. If this page is old, the amount of gangs probably has not changed too much. Also, several police say there is a lot of splintering and in-fighting within the gangs.

I'm from a small town. It was like a cross between a John Mellencamp and Garrison Keillor vision of a small town. There were problems, but honestly, there was not a homicide rate to speak of. And usually any homicide was a domestic situation. Still tragic, but different from what I see or hear about up here. Now within the past twenty years, small towns are getting inaugurated into the drug world with meth. It has become the scourge and destroyer of small towns and small town families. Easy to make, cheap to buy, and completely and utterly devastating to the addicts, as well as their friends, families and communities.

With all that, any homicide in a small town is something that still stops traffic. It settles over a small town like a pallor of darkness for months and months. Hell, an untimely death of anyone in a small town is devastating to the community. I can still remember most people that died within the small town I grew up in. I even wrote a poem for the family of one of the victims.

So, when I moved to Springfield, Illinois, I felt like I was moving to a "big city." It actually had an annual homicide rate. I don't use this measurement for all things, but it seems to be a good if not macabre way to gauge the city you are moving to. There was actually more of every kind of crime in Springfield. More break-ins, robberies, vandalism, rapes, etc.

Yet Springfield was still a small town in many ways. Sure you had plenty to do, places to eat, places to shop and visit. But you still ran into people that you knew. Or if you didn't know them, you saw them often. I think Springfield also had a small town complex, but I won't go there now.

So, I get married to Heather who lives and works in Deerfield at the time. I land my first job in downtown Chicago. I was taking the train from Highwood to downtown every day. And every day I would visit the Chicago news websites and read about 3 or more murders a day. A day. At first everything was so incredibly overwhelming to me (read: small town guy in big city), that this sort of thing didn't stick out to me as much. It bothered me to read about children getting killed, but I don't think I fully comprehended it all.

But after we moved to Skokie, which is just a stone's throw away from the north edge of Chicago, I became more aware of the daily tragedy. Maybe it was because I was concerned for our safety. Or maybe it was because Skokie just felt like more of "the" city. I began reading about these incidents, trying to understand why or what was happening. Often feeling rather distraught or upset over the deaths. Many of these deaths may have been gang-related, but they were not just gang members that were killed. They were men and women just trying to live their lives who were shot in cross fire. I remember reading about a child sitting on his grandfather's lap. Both of them shot by a stray bullet. The other day a young man was shot by a stray bullet while sitting in his room playing xBox. Playing xBox! I play xBox!

It's easy to look at these events and see them as a number. A statistical problem. 438 is a high number, as the article says, even for Chicago. And it seems to happen mainly in certain areas of town. And for now, we live in a safe area of Chicagoland. So, I can remain safe and somewhat apathetic about this issue in Chicago.  And honestly, I really don't know what to do. To assume I could do anything is the height of middle-class arrogance. I think to assume that more legislation related to guns will help this is foolish as well. It's well-meaning, but it's foolish. I don't want to get into the politics of this, though.

I get angry, though. Anger at the gangs. Anger at the police who don't know how to stop it. Anger at myself for being so aloof about it all. Anger for my own prejudices and ignorant ideas about all of this. Anger at my laziness for not wanting to find out more.

So, I think it was back in March I decided to try something new. I often find myself praying for big things in the world, like peace in the middle-east, Afghanistan, for flood victims, etc., and my prayers often felt like I was sending a Hallmark sympathy card to the victims. They were nice and supportive, but I don't know if I expected them to do a whole lot other than to let them know "I was thinking of them." Well, God's been changing my heart in this area. I've seen some things and experienced some things that really show how effective prayer can be. And I was challenged by my minister to pray for something and not worry about how or if God will answer it. Believe He can and will, but it's not up to me.

So I decided to throw down the gauntlet to God.

I decided to start praying that there would be one day without a homicide. Just one day.

And then it happened. Actually, the first time it happened it was for three days. I asked for one and God delivered three days of no homicides in the city of Chicago. So I kept on praying. Later the number jumped up to nine days.

And then I read the above article about the number of homicides. On the surface I can look at it and say, well, the days that were peaceful were cancelled out by the days of multiple homicides. Was I not specific enough, God? I didn't mean for evil to work over time in order to make up for the peaceful days. I know that's not how it works, but it was disheartening. I am still thankful for the days God allowed peace in the city of Chicago. I will continue to pray for days of peace. For now. Just one day at a time. If more days happen, praise God for that.

I want to do more. And at the same time, I don't want to doubt the efficacy of prayer. God can and does perform miracles. I hope you can join me in praying for peace in Chicago. And if not Chicago, for the peace in your city or town. It may not be murder, but it may be domestic violence, molestation, rape, drug abuse, etc. Whatever it is, it's tragic and sad and someone needs a voice. We simply can't know or save all victims, but when we pray, I believe we give voice to the victims and oppressed. Jesus was brutalized, beaten and killed, and He suffered in silence.

Whether or not they threaten my safety or well-being, or if they live near or far away from Heather and I, or if they are perpetrators or victims, they are made in His image. Jesus is in all of them. He suffers with them and He dies with them.

I will leave you with this paragraph from the Tribune article:

In the city's 436th murder on Monday morning, Carlos Alexander, 33, a father of four, was returning from a quick trip to a local convenience store when he was shot from behind in front of his home in the 7900 block of South Escanaba Avenue, according to family members and police. Alexander's sister opened the front door and saw him collapse to the ground, gasping for air. He died later at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.

Please pray with an expectant heart.

Patron Saint in Her Personal Hell

Here I am sitting next to my wife on a Sunday evening. We had a good day. Church. Buffalo Wild-Wings to watch some football and then home for a nap. I love naps. Oh man do I love naps.

My wife is a saint. She ended up going to Cost-Co while I was still napping. She said it was the worst she's ever seen it. She even sent me a picture while in line. The caption was: "My own personal Hell."

To understand Cost-Co when it's busy, you really have to be there, but maybe the picture helps. And it's not even near noon and/or near Christmas?!!?!?  It's like driving in the worst traffic with absolutely no rules, more noise and more smells, but actually people seem a bit more polite. Granted, it's still an amazing privilege to buy some cheap food in bulk and get their awesome samples. But it's an introvert's nightmare.

Well, this is short, but I'm tired and want to spend more time with my patron saint, my wife.

And yes, she does read these posts.

Pelican Brief

Today my good friend arrived at our home with his fiancee. Not out of the blue. We asked them to stay with us while they were going to be in the area attending a banquet at the Chicago Intercontinental Hotel near O'Hare.

Heather and I took them to our favorite pub, The Candelite in north Chicago. Afterwards we went to Techny in Northbrook, IL. Techny used to be the home of the Divine Word Missionaries. Basically, it was a place where they trained men who were preparing to go into seminary for the priesthood. Now it's mainly a retirement facility for older priests and also a retreat center. We didn't visit due to our interest in Catholicism or the Divine Word Missionaries. We were visiting because several years ago I visited the cathedral located there and remembered that it was just an amazing place nestled in the suburbs of Chicago. And I wanted to share it. I also really wanted to see it again. It's such a visual surprise, especially as you are driving along in the repetition and monotony of traffic lights, gas stations, malls, and fast food restaurants.

We walked through the lobby area and into the narthex, which is kind of like a foyer for all of you protestants out there. The nave (the sanctuary) was incredible. Relatively simple pews, but along the right and left were statues of the disciples. Each disciple was on a column and spaced between each column was a station of the cross. There were vaulted ceilings had ornate curves that met at a center. And I can't think of what that center piece is called, but I think I used to know. There were also beautiful stain glass windows of other saints. Of course these stain glass windows are nothing like the ones I've seen in England, but they were beautiful nonetheless. Unlike most stain glass windows in Europe, American stain glass windows in churches were not really used to tell the stories to illiterate people.  That's not a judgement on the people, but it was a reality at the time.

Go to Techny Towers to find out more about the cathedral and area. If you would like a short primer on the cathedral layout, go here. The Techny Towers Cathedral was laid out very similarly to the one in the article.

Near the front of the Crossing or Apse (see article above), there was an image of a large white bird with two of its chicks. The adult bird was picking its breast, and the blood was dropping down to the open-mouthed fledglings. I remembered that that was an image of Christ, and I knew it was adopted at some point in the early church, but I didn't know when. At first I thought it was an ibis.

Well, of course I had to look it up. It's a pelican. During the middle ages, the pelican became a symbol for Christ, virtually replacing the image of a lamb and flag. The pelican was thought to be a sacrificial and pious bird because it looked as if the mother picked her breast to feed her young with her own blood. While the image of them picking their breast to feed the young their blood, is a potent Christological image, it is an incorrect reading. Pelicans have never been known to pick their breasts to feed the young.

So how did this come about misperception come about? Well, based on my limited research, there are a few reasons. First, pelicans have rather large pouches on the bottom of their bills. When they are trying to get their catch out of their mouth to feed their young, they often have to press the pouch against their breast to push the rest of the food out. From a distance and from an unscientific mindset, it might look like its picking its breast. The second reason is that the pelican is simply resting its head, and this also looks like it might be wounding its breast for blood.

Regardless of whether or not the pelican was picking its breast to provide brood droplets, or if it was simply pushing any remaining fish out of its pouch, it was providing for its children in a sacrificial manner. I have always thought the image was rather haunting and beautiful. When I hear all this language referring to God and my faith in militant or legalistic terminology, it's nice to see God compared to a nurturing mother Pelican caring for her young. It's not the first time God is compared to a bird, though. The Old Testament speaks of God and his characteristics in many bird and bird-related ways: doves, eagles, and hens; wings and pluck. I'm sure there are others.

I really don't have a point to make. Just some observations. God bless.

You have died of dysentery: A Retrospective on My Life with Computers, 1984 - 1996

I've been working with computer for almost 15 years. I did not plan for this, and I did not necessarily study to work with computers, but then again, when I was in college, a job industry working with computers barely existed.

As with most humans my age, my history with computers began with a Commodore 64 in a school classroom. Sure, we did some school work on the computer, but most of the time it was Oregon Trail. Before I left the sixth grade, I had died of dysentery, typhoid or cholera many times. I'm not sure I ever made it to Oregon.

At some point my parents purchased an Apple 2GS. I think I used it for basic word processing stuff and playing a game called Bard's Tale. This game had great pictures of fantastical creatures with wonderful scripted options like this:

Before you, you see 1 Grey dragon. 

Will your stalwart band choose to Fight or Run?  

 Honestly, this was a lot more exciting at the time. And the actual fighting hadn't even started. I know, riveting. See, look here:

Notice the grey dragon graphics.

I don't remember where or when I got back into computers, but I remember my parents purchasing an IBM PS/1 with a 386 processor (I believe) and something like 2 MB of RAM. I think it also had a 2400 Baud modem. The modems were still pretty new. The internet didn't exist in its current form, but there were things called Bulletin Board Systems, or BBSes. They were often computers or servers set up at someone's home or business where you could dial directly in using your modem. You had to enter the phone number on your computer and click Connect or Dial. And in a few moments you had that loud screeching sound followed by some small clicks. I think that's all called a handshake.

My Speech and English teacher in high school had a BBS set up at the high school. I dialed into it and played some basic turn-based war games with pretty much only five other people in my small town. At the time there was always the anxiety of someone in my household picking up the phone and severing the modem connection.

This is what a BBS menu looked like:

My teacher was also the first person to introduce me to the pre-browser Internet, or as we called it then, the World Wide Web. It was off the hook.

I took my IBM PS/1 with me to college. I really didn't see myself as a computer nerd, because I simply didn't know as much as other people did about them. I loved doing stuff on computers. I enjoyed having them, playing games on them, but I didn't know how to do stuff per se.

For the most part, that changed in college. I met some friends and formed a computer club. Yeah, that's right, we started Asbury College's first computer club.  Once we sent an email to a missionary in Russia using BBS systems. It only took around 3-4 days. We were so excited.

While at college, my fellow computer geek friends forced me to learn how to stuff on my computer beyond the  basic Windows 3.1 interface. I say force because they would mess with my computer while I was gone. Since Windows was still based on DOS, most of my friends knew how to mess around in DOS. They would get into DOS, change my folder structures, icons, etc. Oh, it was a hoot. So I learned. More and more.

We would often spend Friday nights in my friend's room on his computer, downloading files from a BBS in Texas. My friend had a faster modem, 14,4000, I believe. Oh, it screamed, baby. We downloaded a 3D video animation of the bird drinking water in only 3 hours. So see, I remember what it was like to really suffer.

Everything until graduate school was a blur of games like Duke Nuke'em, Lemmings, and I think later there was some Wolfenstein and Doom. Everything I learned about computers at that time was inspired by boredom or just trial-and-error. If something didn't work, I would try to figure out what was wrong. Or I would have some of smarter friends try to figure it out.

Oh, and how could I forget the dot matrix printers? This was a time when there was actual manual labor involved in loading paper in a printer. You had to line up the holes in the easy-to-perforate paper on the rollers. And then you had to roll the paper to a certain place so the printing started in the right area.

And then you had to hope and pray (literally and figuratively) that during your hour long printing session  there wasn't the horrifying, tardy-to-class producing printer jams. A print job on a dot matrix printer requires military vigilance. You can't leave. You can't get distracted by conversations with others. If that perforated scrolling edges starts to crimp up, the edges may start to tear off, and then the paper itself starts folding up and creasing, it's a profanity-laden disaster of ink and paper. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say it's on par with the Hindenburg disaster.

An aside: I attended a conservative Methodist college. People may joke about laying hands on printers and praying for them, but it happened. Oh yes it did.