Road Signs

A dented silver hubcap, bounced from a pothole, leans against a curb like a tossed coin that couldn’t decide whether to land heads or tails. Nearby, roadside grass—finally green after a long winter—nearly obscures a twisted steel road sign: Speed Limit 45. For weeks now, I’ve noticed black-and-white speed limit rectangles and yellow warning diamonds lying useless beside highways. When snow plows first bumped them out of the ground, they were at least visible, but now grass has nearly buried them. Yesterday driving out of Long Grove, I saw a sign still standing, but spun around so that its gray metal back faced me. After passing it, I craned my neck to read the front: Welcome to Long Grove.

Those signs, meant to protect and lead travelers, leave drivers without protective limits and guidance. Similarly, modern culture has plowed down moral customs that shielded us from becoming lost and destroying ourselves. I offer three recent examples.

When Oprah mentioned that an actress had dropped the F-bomb on the Academy Awards show, Oprah’s audience erupted in cheers and applause. What??? Vulgarity is now praise-worthy? Lady Gaga’s overcoming an American Idol contestant’s objections to Gaga’s advice to “have fun with” an “I’m evil” song lyric was presented as a victory. What??? Are we so desensitized, we have forgotten evil is real—and by the way, bad? In a Friends rerun, Joey got excited to learn Rachel read porn. What??? What kind of “friend” laughs watching a friend self-destruct?

Isaiah 5:20 says: Woe to those who call evil good and good evil. Just because society has spun the “Welcome to Diabolical Devastation” sign backward, doesn’t mean we aren’t driving through it. Just because Hollywood tells us everybody does it, doesn’t mean everybody does or that sex outside marriage is on any level healthy or funny. Just because a celebrity condescends toward truth doesn’t make it false. Just because one can get away with offending people doesn’t make him or her a hero.

I’m praying our road signs get resurrected soon.

Late Night Television

The other night I couldn’t sleep, so I wandered into the TV room for an hour or two. What I saw was noteworthy—more than interesting simply because I don’t normally see these things.

Jimmy Fallon’s guest was Paul McCartney. I don’t remember ever seeing Paul McCartney just chatting. I liked his story about taking a bus in New York City. Most other bus riders that day privately, silently twittered (and probably Tweeted) upon recognizing their famous fellow passenger. But one lady called out, “Hey, aren’t you Paul McCartney?” He answered yes. “What’re you doing on a bus?” He said, “I’m going to the north side, just like you. Now why don’t you come sit next to me and we’ll talk?” And she did. And they chatted all the way to the north side.

Upon Fallon’s mentioning the anniversary of John Lennon’s murder, McCartney expressed gratefulness to have spoken of babies and bread-making with his friend before his death. That they had spoken about such simple stuff of life was evidence to him that they had reconciled their differences. McCartney treasures this memory.

And then Fallon and McCartney together sang a “Scrambled Eggs” version of “Yesterday.” I enjoyed seeing Jimmy Fallon’s giddiness at the whole thing—the silly lyrics and as well as the pinch-me-I’m-singing-with-Paul-McCartney reality.

The same night on Oprah, her audience was her staff. She showed behind-the-scenes drama in producing some Oprah episodes, and she praised staff members by name for their sacrifices, inventive ideas, tact, perseverance, skill, loyalty. Viewing this was a most uplifting exercise for me, and I loved that Oprah promised that in her new OWN network’s programming, she will only build people up, never tear them down.

Channel-surfing that night introduced me to someone new, too—Gustavo Dudamel. On a Great Performances show, this wild-haired, animated, smiling man conducted the LA Philharmonic in rousing Latin-flavored pieces. Screen captions gave only song titles, not the name of this goofy guy having so much fun zigzagging a conductor’s baton through the air. Oddly, when I switched channels to the Tavis Smiley show, he and Quincy Jones asked a penetrating question: “What price have we paid as a society to squeeze music education out of our schools?” They talked about one solution, El Sistema, the brilliant vision of Gustavo Dudamel, energetic music director of the LA Philharmonic. Switching back to Great Performances, I was just in time to see conductor Gustavo Dudamel’s name roll through the credits.

Words

In three days at The Festival of Faith and Writing, I have sat in numerous lecture halls for classes, and I have planted myself on numerous benches in tulip gardens between classes. Here are some miscellaneous snippets I heard and overheard:

in the beginning was the Word
journey
how far up do you want to be?
the litmus test of vocation: i can't NOT do it
an essay is mosaic art, a stained glass window light can come through
archeology professor
someone has to write web content
journey
monster truck rally of writers conferences
i mean that in a good way
journey
it would feel more like a job
he wasn't that creative in the bedroom
poet laureate of Lake Wobegon
divisiveness puts democracy at risk
i forgive you; will you forgive me?
once you think you have the answer, you stop asking questions
oprah called just to say thanks
anyone know where i can find coffee?
eavesdropping complicates everything