Viva La Revolucion!

So it's nearly Christmas again. As usual we are bombarded simultaneously by marketing campaigns making a case that love comprises a bunch of plastic stuff and blinking gadgets and sugary sentiments proclaiming that Christmas is about Children, Love, and Peace. I will suggest a third alternative.

Consider this: when Luke described the angels appearing before shepherds as "a great company of the heavenly host," he did not intend to conjure images of your church's ladies hand-bell choir. Rather, it is a military allusion. Instead of middle-aged women in kitty-cat Christmas sweaters beneath their gold and burgundy choir robes, it portrays an image of ten thousand highly-trained and tightly-wound Marines amassed at the border of enemy territory. And they came to issue a declaration of war.

The birth of Christ was an invasion, a covert operation perhaps (who would ever suspect a baby born in a barn...), but an invasion nonetheless. It is the moment went God began a campaign of liberation, when he began to take back His rightful territory from an occupying army. You and I were a nation oppressed by an enemy regime, but on that night an infant's cries were the first shouts of revolution.

To be sure, Christmas is about love, inasmuch as God's audacity was motivated by his love for you and me, but Good Friday is really about Love. And Christmas is about peace, inasmuch as the end goal of the operation is defeat of enemy aggressors and the establishment of peace, but Easter is really about Peace made possible by God's victory over death. And Christmas is about children, inasmuch as his victory makes possible our adoption into his family. But make no mistake: Christmas is about a turning point in history, a decisive moment that separates "Before" from "After." It is our D-Day, Bethlehem our Normandy. Because of Christmas, Eden will be restored.

Christmas is about the steadfast ferocity of a Warrior-King assaulting hostile territory, determined to take back what is rightfully his. Anything else is merely the cowardly and bankrupt "happy holidays" of our politically correct world.

Merry Christmas to all and Viva La Revolucion!

An Open Letter to a Fellow Traveler

Dear Passenger 16E on Northwest Flight 2386 from Anchorage to Minneapolis:

I want to publicly thank you for a delightful six hours yesterday. Sitting next to you was the highlight of my week. When you later fell asleep leaning four inches from my left ear, I couldn't believe my good luck.

From the first time you shoved me off the armrest I knew that you were something special. Other less sensitive people might have called you a feckless, inconsiderate jerk, but not me. I know the frustration and disappointment of boarding a plane, only to find I have to share it with others. In fact, I have seriously considered running for president, governor, or California senator just so I can enjoy private air travel. You might consider this as well. With your charm and meaty aroma, how could America not love you as much as I do?

I must admit that I was taken aback when, after my several ill-advised attempts to find the smallest space at the back of the arm rest, you loudly accused me of...what was it? Ah, yes, you shouted, "You're trying to crowd me out!" In retrospect, I completely agree that you should never have had to tolerate such effrontery from the likes of me. Please believe I meant no offense. And when I told you in response that you are like a child, I meant it in the most complimentary way. I mean, just because I paid at least as much as you did, I would never have presumed that you weren't entitled to all of your cubic meter and half of mine. I just hope I was able to mold myself to the wall of the plane enough to allow you to spread out like you were in your La-Z-Boy at home. I was waiting for you to growl at the flight attendant, "Fetch me a beer, and hand me the remote." Clearly, you deserve to fly in as much luxury a economy class allows. I regret now that I did not offer to stand quietly by the lavatory so you could stretch out even more. But the moment has passed, and all I can do now is ask your forgiveness. I hope we can remain friends.

I rather doubt you know how to use a computer, or for that matter, read--someone of your importance certainly has people for that. However, if you read this, please call me. I'd like to have a chance to make things up to you. Perhaps we can fly kites together or get an ice cream cone. I'd like that.

Your humble servant,
Kenny Lopez

What I really need is a great big crowbar

So my son and I were on our way to see the St. Louis Blues play the San Jose Sharks a few days ago. I know next to nothing about hockey, but he loves it, so off we went. We got no further than about two miles from the house when the left rear tire blew out. No big deal - I pulled into the deserted, but surprisingly well lit library parking lot, popped the trunk, and extracted the goofy little spare and the jack that always leaves me with bloody knuckles. We had plenty of time to change a tire and still get to the arena in time for the game.

I got the car jacked up and popped off the wheel cover. I took off the four lug nuts, and put them in the wheel cover like you're supposed to (we had just watched A Christmas Story, so I knew this much). When I went to pull the wheel off, it wouldn't budge. After exhausting all ideas I could come with - which took about eighteen seconds - I called the guy I bought the car from a couple of years ago: my brother-in-law.

"Hey, Dave...this is Scott"
"Hey Scott, what' s going on?"
"Well...I just had flat tire in the Focus, and I can't figure out how to get the wheel off. Do you know how to do it?"
"Did you take the lug nuts off?"
"Hang on...let me check....yep, they're off."
"All the way off?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there, Mr. Goodwrench. Can you walk me through this?"
"You know how you were turning them at first? Keep doing that some more, OK?"
"OK, lug nuts are off. It still won't budge. It's like it's welded on or something."
"I gotta be honest with you, Scott. The lug nuts thing is about all I've got. Maybe try muttering profanities."
"OK, thanks, Dave."
Just as I was about to hang up and commit to the profanity method, Dave says, "Hang on a minute...I'm going to pass the phone over to Aaron."
Aaron's my other brother-in-law. He's an honest-to-God car guy. i had mixed feelings about this, because on the one hand he's fairly likely to have an actual solution to offer. On the other hand, if I were the least bit competent in the automotive arts, and some slack-jawed rube called me to ask how to change a tire, there would be no end to the grief I would dish out. But beggars can't be choosers, so I waited for Aaron to come on the phone.
"Hey, Scott...what seems to be the problem."
"Well, I've got a flat, but the wheel seems to be permanently fixed to the car. And before you ask, yes, I took the lug nuts off. "
"Are they..."
I cut him off, "They're all the way off."
"OK, here's what you do: put a couple of the lugs part of the way back on (assuming you really did take them all the way off) and lower the jack as fast as you can. You might have to do this a couple of times."
"Right. And then what?"
"Well, if it loosens the wheel, you take it off - remember to jack the car back up and take the lug nuts back off - and put the spare on."
"Gotcha. What if that doesn't work?"
"If it doesn't work, you want to jack the car back up. Get the wheel a few inches of the ground. Then put the car in neutral, and push it backwards until you knock it off the jack. Maybe the impact will free the wheel."
"Maybe the impact will free the wheel? Are you making this up? That doesn't sound like a good idea to me."
"Trust me - I've done it hundreds of times. Nothing bad could possibly happen. You probably should get the kid out of the car, though, you know...just in case."
"Right. Thanks. And happy new year...I'll let you know how this turns out."

So I tried the rapid jack lowering. This is difficult to do with your typical dealer-provided trunk jack, which moves about a millimeter every half turn. Once you factor in the inevitable knuckle grinding on the pavement, it takes a minimum of eight minutes to get the jack completely lowered. So I pondered the next alternative: bouncing my car off the asphalt. It still seemed sort of extreme, but at this point what do I have to lose? The potential damage can't be any worse that that inflicted by the cutting torch that would be my next alternative.

In the end, desperation won out and I actually tried this irresponsible, dangerous, totally ill-advised course of action. In the end it didn't work, but my son enjoyed watching it. And he learned some new words from me, and I believe expanding one's vocabulary is a worthwhile pursuit in any case.

My next option was to call the Allstate 24-hour roadside assistance hotline. I dialed the number and was greeted by a pleasant sounding recording advising that my call may be monitored for training purposes. This was a complete lie because evidently my call was not even being monitored for answering purposes. I spent nearly a half hour on my cell phone being assured that my call was important to them, a representative would be with me as soon as possible, and I should please remain on the line. Well, I showed them, and didn't remain on the line. Yeah! Suck on that, Allstate!

My sister - the one responsible for my having one of the aforementioned brothers-in-law - called back to see how things were going.

"Scott? This is Lori...Dave and Aaron wanted me ask you to double check that you took the lug nuts off."
"I took the @#$% lug nuts off!"
"Well, did you get the tire changed?"
"No. I did not get the &^*%$ tire changed. I just spent half a @&*%$ hour on the #$@*& phone with #$%#@ing Allstate, and couldn't get a @&^%$* answer!"
"OK. I'm sensing that you're upset..."
In retrospect, I feel a little bad about all the swearing I did at my sister. It was actually pretty nice of her to call back to check on me. But she also once ran completely over me on her bicycle - literally, wheels went over my back - and more recently stole my rechargable batteries. She told our mother that she gave mine back and the ones in her camera are her own, which is patently false...but that's for the courts to decide. Anyway, the point is, I probably shouldn't have leveled such profanity at her - Sorry about that.

In the end, I called my wife who came and picked us up. My son and I made it downtown in time for the last hour of the game. We had a blast and the Blues won. the next morning, I finally got a tow truck out to the library. The driver walked over with a meter-long crowbar, and popped the wheel off like it was stuck on with chewing gum.

"Yeah, well, you'd never had gotten it off so easily had I not so cleverly removed the lugnuts."