Stranger Than Fiction

Twenty-six years ago, Bad Religion (BR) released Stranger Than Fiction, their seventh studio album. They now have 16 or so, not counting any greatest-hits or live albums (and I haven't even bothered to listen to the last one). The video for this song is here if anyone is interested. It's odd, even by BR standards (silly is the word, perhaps). I didn't post it because it might frighten small children. I'm kidding, of course. But, hey, if you think punk rock is scary, think of it this way. Slow it down, and it's essentially folk music. If it's still scary, then just think of it as fast polka music. I'm German, so I like polka (Mollie B., anyone?). I also like sausage of all kinds. Don't all Germans like sausage and polka? At the same time? Oh, and the song has a Hammond organ in it. What? A punk rock song with an organ? Anyway, why am I writing about this album and the song of the same name? Give me a moment. 

This is a long post, by the way. You may need some popcorn. I had some when I wrote it!

A recent Friday in early March I found myself walking the streets of McCook, Neb., once again. If you recall, I was here about nine months ago. It's a town like many others in middle America. The town is blanketed with smells you find throughout Nebraska: cheeseburgers and feedlots. Not much has changed since I went to college here. There is still dog shit and broken tree branches littering the sidewalks. I even walked by a giant bucket of shit it looked like someone was in the process of filling and decided it was a shitty job so didn't finish. Hey, don't own a dog if you can't pick up shit. Dogs shit. A lot. Especially the big ones. It's like a full-time job picking up their shit. They aren't all cuddles on the couch and fetching sticks in the park. They require you, dear human, to pick up their excrement and deposit it in an appropriate receptacle. They lack thumbs, and, honestly, I think they would rather roll in their own shit instead of cleaning it up. So, it's your job. I recall Jerry Seinfeld talking about when someone is contemplating buying a dog, they should be sat down and shown what goes into the dog over their lifetime over here ... and what comes out of the dog over there. Now, can you handle that? If so, good. Buy the dog. If not, don't get the dog. But I digress. Why did I go to McCook — my old college town — again? 

Unfinished business. There, I just answered the questions posed in the above paragraphs. Stranger Than Fiction (the song) is about how real life is often stranger than fiction. It's also about writers who wrote "great American novels," yet their lives were far more interesting — and strange — than those novels. I have to agree. Real-life characters are far more inspiring than any book of fiction I've ever read. Of course, the song also says that life is full of "characters an amateur would never dream up." I've known a few of those, too. 

I saw the writing on the wall at the college where I went to school almost a quarter century ago.

What on earth does BR have to do with me trundling around the streets of McCook, Neb., on a typically windy Nebraska day? The album isn't even one of their best (in my humble opinion), though it is radio-friendly. They even re-released 21st Century Digital Boy on the album, and it wasn't as good as the first time they recorded it! Boy, am I getting on some tangents. Anyway, I was listening to this album a lot when I lived in McCook. I have specific memories of listening to it and driving around town. When I listen to it, I think of this place. It's safe to say I was questioning my faith when I lived here. I think I was angry with God. Oh, if I could just take that back.

When I got to town this time (and I had no trouble, by the way, because I now have navigation in my car and my cell phone and/or network didn't crap out either), I went to the high school track, where the wind was blowing extra hard. I offhandedly said a short prayer asking God to calm the wind so I could enjoy my day. (Later on, the wind died down and I enjoyed my day, in case you were wondering.) There was a man fixing something on the field, but besides that, I was alone. I ran two miles on the track because I was cooped up in my car for six hours and wanted to release some energy. It felt good, and just as I finished, some kids arrived to use the track. Perfect timing. I ate a sandwich at the college where I went almost a quarter-century ago (did you know it was the state's first junior college?), then walked around town, taking a few pictures. There were more cars at the college than I imagined because it was a nice Friday afternoon. Who takes classes on Friday afternoon? People in Nebraska, apparently. It's better than cleaning up dog shit. We all know they don't do that.

Obligatory water tower photo. Pretty, isn't it? I tried to figure out what that typeface is, but to no avail. It looks familiar.

After I checked into my hotel, I stopped at the track again and watched the track team work out. I got bored and left because, well, it's just kids running around in circles. But encapsulated in this day was a whole lot of stuff I miss. I miss how strong I used to be, how active, how hard, how sure of myself. I miss learning, creating, expanding my brain. Listening to BR expanded my world. Some of the concepts they introduced me to I still use (unless they contradict God's Word, of course) in my daily life. It is one of the brainiest bands in the world. Listening to Stranger Than Fiction on the way to McCook, I felt like the album could have been written yesterday. They rail against the same problems in the world that threaten freedom and independent thought today. 

By the way, the name Bad Religion is a jab at prescriptive thought of all kinds, not just religion. Even Jesus took religious people to task, upbraiding them to their faces for their hypocrisy and greed. If Christians see the money-grubbing and hypocrisy of the church, then you can be sure the world's children see it, too. After all, "The children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light." Anything, BR points out, can be a bad religion, even the band itself (as in, "No Bad Religion song can make your life complete," which is something singer Greg Graffin's mother told him, which he later incorporated into a song). Prescriptive thought is dangerous because it negates the critical thinking process. All they wanted to do was inspire thinking. If you're going to go along with what people tell you is true or right, at least think about it first to make sure. They point out problems but don't often offer solutions. Their incisive observations still seem relevant today. They were writing more intelligent lyrics at 15 than most bands write their entire lives. What was I doing at 15? Not writing songs that would set fires in kids' brains all around the world for decades to come. Clearly, BR was coming from a place of distrust, which I instinctively understood. More on that in a bit.

When I lived in McCook, I even subscribed to BR's newsletter, Bad Times, was on a newsgroup dedicated to the band, visited their IRC channels (created by fans but often visited by band members), and methodically read the BR Lexicon (which still exists), which was created because they use so many big words. Heck, I even know what the BR typeface/logo is: Friz Quadrata. I'd recognize it anywhere. I realize memories are reconstructed and are often unreliable, but I know I spent a lot of time fascinated with this band. They weren't the only thing I was listening to, of course, but they seemed to make up the bulk of it. What were those other bands? Lots of little hardcore/straight edge bands, but I also listened to popular musicians of the day such as Weezer and Tupac. I spent a lot of time on IRC trading music and mixtapes with people. Yes, they were actual cassettes.

Did you know Ben Nelson, former governor of Nebraska, is from McCook? I didn't either. Here is his boyhood home complete with creepy bronze statues which I didn't make eye contact with.

I was a smart kid. But smart in an unconventional way. I was also creative but liked to keep things neat (many artists are not neat). I lived a spartan existence. Always have. If I don't need it, I really struggle with the notion of adding something to my life. That's probably why I have no friends even now. Well, that, and I like to hide from people. By the way, while I was walking around the town, some lady across the street at a hairdresser started waving to me and said something I didn't understand. I waved back. She had tinfoil in her hair. Maybe she wanted to color my hair. Or maybe she was working on a tinfoil hat. I sped up a bit. Later on, an older lady walking a dog accosted me with her eyeballs many times. Maybe she was going to let her dog shit on someone's lawn and she didn't bring a baggy. Back to that. Sorry. 

I also miss my strength, my intelligence, my drive, my resoluteness, my integrity, and the promise that was my youth. What I hate about walking this town is the realization this is probably where I turned my back on God when I needed Him most. Not only that, but what would I have done for Him that I missed out on? I'll never know. I was lonely and made some bad decisions that sent me down a dark path. Recently, I wrote in another post (that I have yet to post) how childhood abuse altered my brain, essentially rewiring me to accept things as normal that should not be normal. That programming is something God is dismantling. By accepting His plan for my life, that bad programming is becoming weaker and weaker. The less I use it, the more it dies. 

This McCook house was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. I've always loved his architecture, perhaps because I love Art Deco and also nature, and he often combined the two.

Another thing I wrote is that I have a double programming scheme. One is the primary scheme for dealing with life and the other is a backup. But they often run simultaneously, too, and that's when I get overstimulated and burned out. I have two schemes because childhood trauma causes a deep rift or malfunction in a child's trust mechanism. So I have one that over-trusts and one that under-trusts. It's hard to explain how they work exactly, but let's just say my brain works a lot harder than it should when encountering new information. First I have to figure out if I trust the information or person delivering the information. This is the biggest hurdle. Imagine me in math class when I was presented with a problem. Any classroom or learning situation caused these two schemes to work overtime. Life is a lot easier when you just accept what you're told, right? Trust the process? Conversely, life is a lot harder when you struggle to believe what people tell you because you have a screwed up trust mechanism that split into two parts that war against each other. Sigh. All that overprocessing isn't necessary when I trust God and leave decisions in His hands. The last few years have been very hard and were made harder by that twin trust scheme. But, moving on. 

What else did I do while I was in town? I bought my son a ball at Dollar General. I looked at a Goodwill store, but it didn't have anything for him or me. Drove around a bit. Lamented the shit-littered sidewalks. I took a bath! A long one! It's been almost a year since I've had a bath! 

A rat rod of some sort. I should have taken a shot of the engine detail. It was pretty cool.

Another thing I did was miss the girl I'm in love with. Oh, come on. You knew it was coming. I have to admit, I thought I would do better this time. There is something unseen and unbelievably strong that keeps pulling me to her. The last time I was in this town, I reconnected with the feelings of missing and wanting her that I had when I lived here the first time. I felt those same feelings before I even got to town this time. Knowing she's just down the road didn't help, but there's something more going on. It's more than just a contact buzz. Here is a woman I've barely talked to in two years who severed our friendship almost three years ago, yet she's still the girl I want. Most people would say it's long over. If I relied solely on my thoughts, I would have to agree. As I drove by the town where we saw each other almost three years ago, I marveled at the passing of time. Belittle me if you must. Maybe you think I'm just hung up on her. Maybe I am. But that doesn't account for certain things I can't mention here. As I said, there is something more going on. Whatever is going on is unusual and shrouded. God isn't letting me see the whole picture right now. Pray I am faithful to God if you pray for me at all. That's it. Just pray that. 

She told me last year that even though we missed out on each other, we still lived good lives. That's the thought I have to hold onto as I face the future without the one I love. She definitely had a blessed life. I don't know if I can say the same about myself, but perhaps the future will be different. 

My life has truly been stranger than fiction. I would love to regale everyone with some of those stories. The more I think about my strange life, the more I see God's fingerprints all over it. Those stories drive me to a deeper commitment to Him. Every day I recommit myself to Him. Recently, I gave my life to God all over again, just as I did when I was 15 years old. You may look at me with eyes of pity and say I'm wasting my time, for instance, waiting for God to do something, waiting for a girl, endlessly waiting for something unseen but firmly believed. But, my life does not belong to me. If anything, I'm wasting God's time, but He hasn't told me to move on. If He told me to do so, I would. Trust me, I've asked. There are many things I'd like to do right now, but God has given me certain things, so that's what I will do.

As I sit here and type this, I can honestly say there is nothing I have not dealt with that God has brought to my attention. It's all been laid out there and scrutinized. I am doing what He told me to do. (Psalm 139: 23-24) Recently I was convicted of something and took action. I sat there a moment when God brought it to my attention, admitted it was a problem, then dealt with it. It took all of two minutes. Done. I can't handle having something come between God and me. If I can do anything about it, I will. I don't love anything more than Him. I'm not saying I'm where I need to be; all I'm saying is I've dealt with everything God has brought to my attention.

Dear friends, the man writing this blog is not the angry kid who walked those McCook streets all those years ago. Yes, I'm gray in the head, and I can actually (sort of) grow a beard now (and I still get pissed off about dog poop), but my heart has changed. I feel so much lighter now than I did then. God has blessed me with endless second chances. Walking those streets this time, I could have dwelled on my many troubles, but I did not. I wondered at the change God wrought in me, even from the last time I was here, and certainly from all those years ago. 

Recently, I feel God told me I had essentially "graduated" a small test, but even that was not of myself. Yes, I may have passed a test. But did anyone see me all those times, down on my knees, begging God for strength just to get through my day? Did anyone see all the hundreds of times I cried over that very thing? Did anyone see all the times I failed? No, but God did. Hearing Him say that test was over made my heart swell. I'm sorry, but I have to say this next thing. It was worth it. All the horrible things that happened in my life, if they somehow colluded to bring me to God's feet, it was worth it. It was what I was looking for all those years. I couldn't access it because I wasn't obedient. Now I have access. That access has a purpose, which I haven't been shown. Right now, I'm like a kid who is just learning to ride his bike without training wheels. I'm enjoying the sensation. And trying not to fall. 

With deep humility and a heart full of repentance, I weep over the lost time I could have given to God. I went the wrong way much of my life. Though I knew God, I lived a godless life. My recent trip solidified in me a desire to chase after the things of God while I still have time. I'll never catch up to all those people living the good life, but perhaps I can have something else. God can make up the difference, just as he did with Paul.

That punk rock kid used to question everything and everyone. He aimlessly roamed this town before leaving it in 1997. He didn't learn what he needed to learn in school. He endured many more years with a chip on his shoulder. He made mistakes. But God used even those mistakes to bring him back. What a strange and wonderful story I have to tell. My life has truly been stranger than any book I've ever read. I have a feeling it's going to get even stranger before it's over. 

Thank you for reading. And God bless!

I figured I should take this trip before they start restricting travel on account of the c-word. Who knows when I'll be able to take another trip like this. Also, I'm truly sorry I have not written more lately. I have not felt well for a long time. My vitality and clarity of mind are flagging. I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever feel good again. But I'll be okay. Maybe tomorrow.  :)