The Council’s Ruling — Graffiti

05/19/2008, 12:00 pm -- by Bweinh | No Comments

This and every Monday, the Bweinh!tributors, having convened in secret for hours of reasoned debate and consideration, will issue a brief and binding ruling on an issue of great societal import.

This week’s question — Is graffiti art?

The Council issues the ruling of “Yes,” but was unable to agree on a rationale.

Josh offers this opinion, joined by Chloe:

Absolutely. Like all art, it is an expression of an individual, there is skill and technique involved, and there are good and bad examples. Like much art, it also happens to be subversive.

Steve offers this opinion, joined by Job:

Yes, illegal or not, but only insofar as it embodies creativity.

Chloe offers this opinion, joined by Erin:

Yes — one word, Banksy.

MC-B joins this opinion:

Yes – just not usually legal.

Josh and David join this opinion:

Graffiti is one of the truest forms of art. Anonymous (mostly) it signifies angst, passion, love and anger in a setting open to all viewers and with the artist not receiving, or expecting, any compensation.

Connie offers this opinion, joined by Tom, and Kaitlin:

Like anything, it must evaluated piece by piece. Some is absolutely art, one look will convince anyone — but some is absolute trash.

Djere offers this opinion, joined by Kaitlin:

It depends. Graffiti as vandalism is not art, it’s a nuisance and a crime. Graffiti, given the proper permission, can be beautiful, thought-provoking, and inventive.

Mike played no part in the determination of this issue.

Next time: What is the worst color to paint a house?

One Hundred Words (4)

05/19/2008, 9:00 am -- by Steve | No Comments

In the spirit of Proverbs 10:19, our newest regular feature will be a series of posts of 100 words — or fewer. Comments under ten words!

To me, the creative process is most like an archaeological dig. Traveling in a desert landscape, whether on a hunt or unaware, I am suddenly waylaid — flat on my face, sprawled over the edge of some previously unseen idea, protruding from the ground.

I dare not try to retrace my steps, so I act immediately — unearthing that thought, polishing it, and then exploring the immediate vicinity for the connective tissue to bring it to perfect completion.

And sometimes — on rare occasion — the wires fade away. And finished, it is one, again.

–sm

Joke of the Day, 5/19/08

05/19/2008, 7:00 am -- by Bweinh | No Comments

An engineer walks into his boss’s office and sees him holding a tiny object up to the light. “What’s that?,” the engineer asks.

His boss says, “It looks like plastic but feels like rubber.”

The engineer asks to look at it, and rolls it around in his fingers. “This is interesting. It’s somewhat viscous, yet it remains solid at the same time — all-around, a very peculiar texture. Where did you get it?”

“My nose.”

Chick Tract Answer!

05/18/2008, 12:00 am -- by Steve | No Comments

Which of these things does evolution not teach Tyler???

If you picked “Killing his mother is okay,” WHICH NO ONE DID, you’re a winner!!

Yes or no, Turkey?!

One Hundred Words (3)

05/17/2008, 10:00 am -- by David | No Comments

In the spirit of Proverbs 10:19, our newest regular feature will be a series of posts of 100 words — or fewer. Comments under ten words!

They say every dog has his day and mine has been a good one; I have drunk from the porcelain bowl. I have chased squirrels and terrified the elderly. I\’ve escaped from the backyard more times than I can count, and fathered more children than anyone could count. I have left my mark all over this neighborhood, the only world I have ever known, and I am ready for the next one. Throw the ball (or bone) through the veil, and I will follow fearlessly, be it a treat or rolled-up newspaper that awaits me on the other side.

–DFS, for Wallace P. MacSweet

A Mystery of Delmarva, Part Three

05/16/2008, 11:00 am -- by Erin | 2 Comments

Read part one of this short story here and part two here!

Marianne stood behind the kitchen door, having run in from whatever it was that had happened with Jaffey. She could still see his face — the gaping mouth gurgling out that tortured sound, eyes bulging with intensity, and yet the rest of his body so still and calm. The yard was silent now, and she couldn\’t bring herself to guess where her husband might be. A thousand questions raced through her mind before any of them could form completely, and she couldn\’t seem to catch any of them long enough to think. She eased herself onto the ground, fearing she might faint, not knowing what to do.

After a full ten minutes that might have been an hour or two, she realized that she was more scared of the silence than anything else. Jaffey hadn\’t made another sound, so she convinced herself to act in stages. First, standing to her feet wasn\’t such a big deal — if Jaffey was near, he could just as easily find her standing as crouching. Then, she moved to the window — no use ignoring what was going on. Seeing no one, she gazed out at the barn and the little field that melted off the yard, poor lightish soil from which nothing much liked to grow.

A voice near to her made her practically jump out of her skin. “Mama?” it said plaintively.

“Goodness me! You scared me, darling!” It was Anna, her youngest. Of course it was. She was always too perceptive for her own good, showing up at the strangest, most awkward, most troublesome parts of life.

“What\’s Papa singing?” The question came out of the blue and like a strong wind knocked Marianne off her feet.

“Singing? Ah…I don\’t…know the song,” was all that she could get out.

“Why?”

It was every little child\’s question for everything, but in the 10 or 15 seconds it took Anna to realize that Marianne was distracted and walk away, Marianne had asked it to herself a dozen times or more. Why, why, why? There didn\’t seem to be an answer anywhere.

Anna didn\’t care. She ambled away, her reedy voice lapsing into a hum. It took a few seconds to register with Marianne, but when she recognized the tune, she was astonished.

It was a strange aberration of the wail Jaffey had just uttered. And the fact that Anna — sweet, awkward, four year old Anna — was humming it . . . well, that was something, wasn\’t it?

____________________________________

Anna grew up and wrote down the tune, once, though she never really remembered where it had come from. Jaffey stuck to farming and raising his other animals, but never again did he buy a sheep or a goat, and the old woman never reappeared. Anna inherited the house in Delmarva, and most of this was forgotten.

____________________________________

Anna\’s daughter, Deborah, was cleaning out her mother\’s attic in Delmarva and came across the sheet music her mother had scribbled as a child. It was untitled and unremarkable, but like all good musicians she hummed a few bars. It appealed to her and she stuck it in her pocket.

She had offered to take the dog out for a walk a few days later and while doing so, she pulled the sheet music out and tried it once more. The ravine where she was walking was the same where the old woman had been and where Jaffey had gone to collect his thoughts after that last day of prayer, when Anna had asked her mother the unanswerable why. The melody escaped and echoed and twisted and contorted, turning back into what it had once been even after leaving the lips of the granddaughter of the man who had first given it voice. Deborah kept humming, stock-still.

____________________________________

And I, Erin Clark, stood stock-still years later, scared out of my wits, hearing what once was a prayer.

One Hundred Words (2)

05/16/2008, 9:00 am -- by Josh J | No Comments

In the spirit of Proverbs 10:19, our newest regular feature will be a series of posts of 100 words — or fewer. Comments under ten words!

My favorite new ad campaign is Quizno’s response to Subway’s haunting “Five Dollar Footlong.” The ads consist of people eyeing a five dollar bill before eagerly devouring it. The visual is quite hilarious, but my favorite part is the words on the bottom of the screen:

“Dramatization. Do not attempt.”

Really??? Have we gotten to the point where we have to tell people we’re just kidding and they shouldn’t eat their money? Of course, if someone wasn’t warned, and did try it, and (of course) then sued, well, at least we’d have no problem quantifying the loss.

–JDJ

Quote of the Day, 5/16/08

05/16/2008, 7:00 am -- by Bweinh | No Comments

“All men are by nature equal, made all of the same earth by one Workman; and however we deceive ourselves, as dear unto God is the poor peasant as the mighty prince.” — Plato

Tag, You’re It!

05/15/2008, 11:00 am -- by David | 1 Comment

If you are reading this message, it is because I have put you on a list of my very best friends! This message brings with it financial blessings, happiness, and the chance to help those less fortunate than you. If you feel the same way about me, find ten of your best friends and send it to them, to continue this wonderful blessing and financial opportunity.

If, however, I am not one of the ten people that you send it back to, I will know that you do not love me, you are not really a Christian, and (in fact) you have always hated me, your mother and God (not necessarily in that order).

What is more, Proctor & Gamble has agreed that if you forward this message to ten people, they will stop tithing to the Satanic Church, and instead use that money to send food and medicine to needy children overseas. Also, Bill Gates and Microsoft have agreed that if you forward the message to the ten people, and they, in turn, forward it to ten more people too, the company will donate to an offshore account in Nigeria, $1,000 for every 100 forwarded emails.

That money will then be tied up in litigation, once the Barrister handling the funds dies in a plane crash, but don’t fear! His assistant, the Right Honorable M\’bai\’ D\’undooloo Kinsha-Shazz will contact you about how to retrieve your portion (possibly as high as $2,000,000.00) by simply sending him your bank account number, your debit card with PIN, all your blank checks, and any jewelry you have lying around the house.

Remember! You must forward this message to ten people before you shut down your browser, or even use the rest room! Starving children, Nigerian diplomats, and me — your best friend — are all hanging in the balance, and we could be hurt terribly by your indecision.

God bless!

Joke of the Day, 5/15/08

05/15/2008, 7:00 am -- by Bweinh | No Comments

What’s the difference between a soprano and a Rottweiler?

Jewelry.

One Hundred Words (1)

05/14/2008, 10:45 pm -- by Mike | 3 Comments

In the spirit of Proverbs 10:19, our newest regular feature will be a series of posts of 100 words — or fewer.

There comes a moment in each sports season where I begin to let go of one team and move on to the next one. The Philadelphia Flyers ”” Bweinh! predictions to the contrary ”” are not going to win the Stanley Cup.

Yet I\’m not upset, really. I feel less ticked at their letdown, and am content to release these Flyers to the haze of history, and give my heart to another.

I have developed this coping mechanism over the last 97 Philadelphia professional sports seasons, each one ending without a championship. Perhaps the 98th ”” the 2008 Philadelphia Phillies ”” will not disappoint.

–MJ

Battle of the Bands LVI

05/14/2008, 12:30 pm -- by Bweinh | No Comments

Here are the next batch of band names from Luke (Empty Hand moves on!)

{democracy:242}

Bible Discussion — Luke 21

05/14/2008, 12:30 pm -- by Bweinh | No Comments

This week, Bweinh.com looks at the next chapter of Luke, Luke 21.

PREVIOUS DISCUSSIONS:
Genesis: 1-4 | 5-9 | 10-14 | 15-18 | 19-22 | 23-26
27-29 | 30-32 | 33-36 | 37-39 | 40-43 | 44-46 | 47-50
Exodus: 1-4 | 5-8 | 9-11 | 12-14 | 15-18
19-22 | 23-26 | 27-30 | 31-34 | 35-40
Romans: Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (I)
Ch. 8 (II) | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15-16
Luke: 1:1-38 | 1:39-2:40 | 2:41-3:38 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14-15 | 16-17 | 18 | 19 | 20

INTRODUCTION:
David:
Starting in 20:46 and carrying through to verse 6 here, Jesus dealt with the wrong attitudes people had about ‘mammon,’ and the things of this world. Pharisees playing at religion for profit, a widow’s gift of a penny worth more than the overflowing bags of the wealthy, and his disciples’ inordinate affection for the beauty of the Temple building. None of it mattered — especially in the face of what is coming to pass, God\’s judgment on the earth.

Mike:
Jesus encourages His disciples to be ready for the inbreaking of the Kingdom of God.

Steve:
This passage seems to me to be directed not only to the disciples, but also to those who would read it throughout the ages, wondering about the signs that would foretell the return of Christ. The advice Jesus gave is just as valuable now as it was then. Do not be frightened when you hear of wars and revolutions, destruction and pestilence, for it will come in God’s time, just as it did on a smaller scale in the years following His ascension. And meanwhile, Jerusalem will be “trampled on by the Gentiles until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled.”

SOMETHING YOU’D NEVER NOTICED BEFORE:
Josh:
“. . . and they will put some of you to death . . . but not a hair of your head shall be lost.”

I assume the second statement refers to spiritual salvation, since a cure for baldness would offer little comfort after hearing that your own mother was going to kill you.

Connie:
v.19 — “By your patience possess your souls.”

Mike:
How Jesus leads into the coming-of-the-Kingdom story with the jarring image of the Temple being destroyed ”” how powerful and unsettling that must have been to the original hearers!

Steve:
Jesus compared the day of His return to a closing trap, but not just toward the unrighteous — toward those who believed, yet let their hearts become “weighed down” with the things of the world.

BEST BAND NAME FROM THE PASSAGE:
Mike: Flee to the Mountains
Josh: Another Fig Tree
David: onestone
Steve: Delayed End
Connie: Trampled by Gentiles

Continued here!

Best of Job: That Stupid Little Von Dutch Hat

05/14/2008, 10:00 am -- by Job Tate | 2 Comments

Originally published March 6, 2007.

Von Dutch hat He wore it all the time. Legend was he even slept in it. And hating him, we hated that hat. So we came to the decision one night, over IBC root beer and Oatmeal Creme Pies, that the hat had to die, and die spectacularly. No simple grab and run, throw on the top of a roof scenario. We desired a true, live-wire Mafia hit.

But it never left his smarmy little skull. We knew we’d have to bide our time.

For an entire semester we did just that. He was from the other dorm, South Hall, and was one of their pedigree front men. Our disdain for him had to be carefully veiled, lest we upset the precious balance that kept relations between the two houses of Houghton at a somewhat reasonable peace. Oh, to be sure, he hated us just as much. In fact, we two vied for the affections of the same young doe-eyed lass. But the passive observer would’ve thought we served in ‘Nam together or something, with our back-slapping brand of camaraderie; elliptical orbits taking us in and out of the same groups of friends.

His mistake was the Homecoming Dinner, or rather going to the Homecoming Dinner…the type of event one does not normally wear a stupid little Von Dutch hat to.

My friend (we’ll call him Rick, although this was not even remotely his name) and I made eye-contact over a row of tables when we saw him enter the cafeteria, hatless, but compensating with some doe eyes on his arm.

We knew the time was now. I was Homecoming King, of all the freaks of nature, and Rick had the prettiest girl at the dinner, but we knew the moment demanded an expediency of action that superseded these elements.

I nodded. He nodded back.

What began over IBC and Creme Pies was finished by abandoning sparkling cider and filet mignon. We excused ourselves and reconnoitered by the coats, breathless. Down the trail to South Hall we ran, the campus eerily empty.

Into the hated hall, somewhat confused by the unfamiliar layout, we found the hunted’s lair.

Inhale, exhale.
Looked to the left.
Looked to the right.
Still breathless.

The door was unlocked!

We bum-rushed the room, expecting a difficult search — but there, like the golden chalice, sat the stupid little Von Dutch hat on top of his Aiwa stereo.

Our hearts pounded a jungle beat. I was blinded with opportunity, revenge choking my vision. Those doe eyes squeezing shut with the laugh he had just given her.

Rick to the rescue. A pair or scissors glinted under the light of the Lava Lamp.

Deftly, smoothly; more for me than for him.

A gray, sweat-stained Von Dutch hat cut neatly into three pieces.

They spelled out, on his pillow case:

R.I.P.

Our filet mignon was still warm.