The evolution of fear

I still have no update for you on the car-door-dinger. He's been hard to catch up with the past few days. When I have an update, I'll post it right away.

In the mean time, check out this story about a young man in Homestead, Fla., south and west of Miami, who was arrested on March 27th after making threats over the Internet to carry out a Virginia Tech-type massacre.

So police went to his home and they found a stash of more than a dozen guns, including several AK-47s, and more than 5,000 rounds of ammunition. Authorities are looking into whether the guns were purchased legally. Either way, 20-year-old Calin Chi Wong, who threatened to light things up like Va. Tech was released on $7,500 bond the very next day. He's free. On the street. After making that kind of threat.

There was a time people would have reacted in pure fear to that sort of threat. But what I found interesting about Wong's case is people around here - especially news consumers - sounded pissed off, not scared.

One Friday or Saturday night when I was like 17, I had the evening off from my part-time job at Belk, selling women's shoes. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I made a mint on Nine West. Anyway, I had no date this night, so I was at a gym on a local naval base playing pick-up basketball with my buddies. We were all enjoying a good game - a little rough, but typical for playground style hoops. Anyway, after one sorta hard foul, the recipient of the blow complained that it was uncalled for. It was an accident. He was hit during a mad scramble for the ball. But instead of accepting the offender's apologies, the guy who was fouled yells out that he's pissed off and that he's going out to the parking lot to his car to retrieve a gun. Well, at first we all reacted the way you might expect. We started yelling and running in circles like chickens with our heads cut off. But then one of the guys stops us and says wait a minute. If he supposedly has a gun in his car, why are we allowing him to go to his car? Good question. So our fear instantly turned to anger, and we banded together like Minutemen, sprinted out the door, and caught him before he made it to his car. Then we proceeded to beat him like a cartoon character. I'm not a violent guy by nature. I'm more peaceful than Gandhi. But this guy threatened our lives. Surely no one will disagree with me, when I say this guy deserved it? The base police came. We explained what happened. Surprisingly he didn't deny it. And the police basically told him he got what he deserved. They searched his car and found no gun, made him leave the gym, and he was banned from coming back onto the base.

My point is these types of reactions are good signs, as far as I'm concerned. People who mass murder and people who threaten to do so may be forced to think twice about their actions if they believe us sheeple, the general public will stand up to them and stop them in their tracks.

Cheek turning

So you all know that I am a man of faith. Not very strong or deep faith, 'cause I'm not very consistent with it. I'm what is technically known as a hypocrite...sometimes. What can I tell you? The closest I'll ever come to walking on water is ice skating at Rockefeller Center in the winter.

One concept of faith that I've never been able to fully embrace though is the turning of the other cheek. I've heard minister after minister exhort their congregations to turn the other cheek, because allegedly that's what Jesus would do if offended.

But I'm not buying it. I've written before that we only have two cheeks...above the waist, and once I've turned that pair I'll no longer be conciliatory over a particular issue. I can't. Beyond my two above waist cheeks, I have the other pair, the pair that helps hold up my pants. And if I turn that pair, I'm likely to get kicked in 'em.

I'm rambling on about all this, because I am engaging in a real-time experiment of the appropriate way to react to that second cheek being slapped.

When I walked out to my car yesterday after work, I noticed a red Firebird/Trans Am parked next to my passenger side. It hadn't been there when I got to work Tuesday morning. As I got closer to open the front passenger door and insert my bag, I noticed an inch-long scratch on the door and red paint.

I stepped back and took a wider look. The Firebird was parked over the yellow line, partially in my space. I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out what had happened.

If this had been the first time I'd gotten a scratch, or the first time I'd gotten a scratch at work, or the first time I'd gotten a scratch from this particular car I might have had a different reaction.

But, believe it or not, two months ago when I was driving a rental car while mine was in the shop, I arrived at work, and parked next to this exact same car. When I left the office at the end of the day, I noticed the Firebird's driver about 30 yards ahead of me. By the time I reached my car, he was in his and approaching the exit to the parking lot. When I made it to my rental there was a huge ding in the driver's door. And there was red paint in that huge ding. I tried to wave down Firebird guy, but he was out of the lot and on his way and either didn't see me or didn't care to stop.

What are the odds? So I sort of know who the guy is. I don't know his name yet. But I see him all the time driving up to the office with the T-tops off, bumping Night at the Roxbury music and bobbing his head in kind.

I've never spoken to him - not so much as eye contact and a head nod, or a simple "hello."

But now I'm going to talk to him.

I alerted the security boss, 'cause I want there to be a record in case I'm unlucky enough to find the only parking space left some day in the future is next to Firebird guy. But I told the security boss I don't want any formal reports that I can take to an insurance agent. I'm not looking for money. I don't want anything tangible from this guy. I good bit of Carnauba wax and some elbow grease, and I'll be able to buff out this latest scratch. I just want to talk to the guy.

So I've been mulling this morning over what I want to say when I meet the door dinger.

There are two incarnations of old James. There is the incarnation that would have turned the other cheek and dismissed it as no big deal. There is the incarnation that would have raged over the incident and walked around with a vein bulging out the side of his neck. That second incarnation may have also planted a penalty shot-worthy kick on Firebird guy's car.

Relatively new James is going to compromise though. I'm not turning anymore cheeks. 'Nuff of that. And I'm not boiling over. I'm getting old. I have to watch my blood pressure.

So I think when I get the guy's ID and find out what department he works in later this afternoon, I'll just introduce myself, explain to him that he's hit my car twice with his car door in recent months, that there is overwhelming evidence against him, so he shouldn't even try to deny it, and that he needs to be a little more careful when he opens his car doors.

And I'll even say it without swearing...I think. I may ask him what the "hell" is wrong with him, but I'll only take that tone if he cops attitude with me.

So that's my social/psych/faith/cheek-turning experiment - shaming the perpetrator. I'll report back later on how it went.

Food for thought

I have never been much of a conspiracy theorist, but when I heard last week about the soylent water many of us have been drinking - if you drink tap water - I did flash back to my college theories that the moon landing was fake, JFK was shot by several people, and there really are aliens living underground in Roswell, New Mexico. I haven't purposely drank tap water for years. I have been giving it to my dog though. And based on the list of medicines they say are in our water supply, my dog will probably never catch a cold or have a puppy. Of course, he is a boy so he wouldn't have had puppies anyway, although the scientists involved say some male fish in the affected bodies of water are becoming female and having eggs. I'm surprised Cheko the Dog's fur hasn't turned into a coat of armor. He may be getting bottled water from now on.

Barack Obama's former pastor is out there and what we've seen of his sermons on TV has been outrageous. But don't think he's the last religious advisor who will undergo scrutiny. You heard it here first...or maybe you heard it somewhere else. Either way, if things continue as they are, expect the national media - especially the TV folks to begin looking at the ministers whom John McCain has befriended and accepted as advisors, the ministers, who in the vein of Pat Robertson, have given sermons in the recent past about terrorist attacks and natural disasters in the U.S. "possibly" being God's punishment or God's wrath against homosexuals. And if you think it will end there, you're kidding yourself. It'll only be a matter of time before a Catholic candidate is asked to denounce the Pope, because of what some folks view as the Church's once lackluster efforts to control pedophile priests. This ball is only going to start rolling faster.

As long as we're in the vicinity, I had a long chat with a buddy of mine the other day about all this racial chat that's been going on with TV pundits on the cable news networks. He wanted to know if I was angry. I asked in what respect. He said, in general. Based on what the pundits have been saying his assumption is that all black people, or most anyway, walk around pissed off everyday, bitter and hating life. I have an announcement: The pundits are idiots. Besides, if we're gonna be blunt about this topic, why does anyone care what a bunch of middle-aged (mostly white) guys who live in gated communities have to say about what minorities in the U.S. think and feel? What do those knuckleheads know? Here's a tip. Most middle of the road black folks in the U.S. aren't angry. They're cautiously optimistic with a sprinkling of lingering cynicism - a description which, if you think about it, could be applied to middle of the road folks from every other racial and ethnic group in the U.S. too. Remember, the pundits are idiots. And will remain so...until they invite me on.