Dr. John MacArthur's October 18, 2006 appearance on Larry King Live in the wake of the Mark Foley scandal has been posted at YouTube. The panel that evening also included Andrew Sullivan.
Dr. John MacArthur is a Bible scholar, prolific author and expository preacher of God's word. My husband Luis and I drive one hour each way to attend his Grace Community Church as many Sundays as we can manage. God willing, Luis will attend both his Master's College and Seminary.
In the video clip below, Dr. MacArthur gets a few words in amid the cross-talk to share what the Bible says about sin and the role of Christians in political activism. To learn more, I highly recommend his recently published book, Right Thinking in a World Gone Wrong.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Jason Castro Signs with Atlantic Records!
Finally, the announcement Jason Castro fans have been waiting seven months to hear (but who's counting) — the talented daydreaming boy from American Idol season 7 has signed with Atlantic Records and will be working with Executive Vice President Pete Ganbarg himself. Jason hopes to have his debut album out by summer.
Congratulations, Jason!
You can watch his announcement below (h/t MJ's Big Blog).
ETA: Here is Jason in the studio with Kara DioGuardi.
Congratulations, Jason!
You can watch his announcement below (h/t MJ's Big Blog).
ETA: Here is Jason in the studio with Kara DioGuardi.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Love Ballad for Luis
So I was perusing Adam Lambert's profile on his American Idol web page when I came across the following quote, which you can find if you click on side arrows in the Q&A section:
Immediately, I thought, "Yeah. I get it. That's what happened to me."
Nine years ago, give or take a few weeks, I fell in love. It was the proudest, bravest, smartest thing I have ever done. Despite all my carefully cultivated caution, my 10-year wound from an agonizing relationship that wouldn't die until I finally pulled the plug, my insistence that I had given up on men forever – I fell truly-madly-deeply in love with someone I expected would inevitably reject me.
Luis and I couldn't have seemed more different on the surface. He was 21, Hispanic, raised in poverty in East L.A. in a world where conservative political opinion and Protestant theology were rarely spoken, a theological skeptic who mocked Christians, drop-dead gorgeous despite that don't-mess-with-me walk and averted stare born of necessity during a childhood marred by gang violence. I was 43, divorced with a 16-year-old son, a reformed spoiled youngest child, a middle class WASP, a lapsed Lutheran, proudly conservative, 50lbs. overweight not counting the invisible armor that was supposed to protect me from further heartbreak.
We were forced to work together on the Board of Directors where I lived. He swears it was love at first meeting. It took three months and a scary car accident that emboldened him to make his move. I never saw it coming.
It took a month for me to go walking with him at a local park after work. I agreed, thinking he would soon realize how impossible it was to overcome the obstacles between us. I hoped, after spending a few hours together, we could part as friends and continue working together on the HOA. Instead, I discovered innate intelligence, irresistible charm, humor, depth, maturity, wisdom, humility, manliness and gentlemanliness in one beautiful package – a combination of traits I never found in the dozens of men I dated from my teens through my forties.
We kept walking and talking – and I kept balking – until somehow I was eager to take the biggest risk of my life. Nine months after our first date, I married my soulmate – although I was stilled bedeviled by the fear that he would reject me in old age.
For the past 6 years, Luis has been the most dedicated partner imaginable in my battle against breast cancer. Just as I had to confront the very real possibility that I would never reach old age, his constant support and unconditional love completely erased my vain fears. Without reservation, he took in my deaf brother while I was undergoing chemotherapy – moving him 3,000 miles from Florida to our home in California when my sister suddenly died – and raised my son as his own.
When I was treated for my first episode of metastatic breast cancer in 2006, he committed his life to Christ, became an evangelist and enrolled in Bible college. Then I had a miraculous remission, the likes of which my oncologist had never seen before.
Since December 2008, I have been undergoing chemotherapy for my second episode of metastatic breast cancer, which is considered terminal and incurable. Barring divine intervention, I am in the last months or dozens of months of my life. Luis and I are fused by unbreakable bonds – the deepest of earthly loves and a shared devotion to our Savior, Jesus Christ. God has given us His peace, hope and strength. We are as happy together as ever.
Tomorrow will be the sixth Deaf Awareness Day we have attended together with my brother at Disneyland. At the last minute, I decided I should get a long-sleeved Winnie the Pooh shirt to wear to amuse our niece and nephews, who will accompany us. While shopping at a Goodwill thrift store, George Benson's uptempo version of the Jeffrey Osborne/LTD song, Love Ballad, came on the muzak system. The lyrics instantly reminded me of my wonderful husband – and I cried, which I rarely do these days.
I wish I had the time left to write a book about my amazing Luis, but these lyrics are a good start.
Better yet, here's George.
What's your proudest moment?
Falling in love.
Immediately, I thought, "Yeah. I get it. That's what happened to me."
Nine years ago, give or take a few weeks, I fell in love. It was the proudest, bravest, smartest thing I have ever done. Despite all my carefully cultivated caution, my 10-year wound from an agonizing relationship that wouldn't die until I finally pulled the plug, my insistence that I had given up on men forever – I fell truly-madly-deeply in love with someone I expected would inevitably reject me.
Luis and I couldn't have seemed more different on the surface. He was 21, Hispanic, raised in poverty in East L.A. in a world where conservative political opinion and Protestant theology were rarely spoken, a theological skeptic who mocked Christians, drop-dead gorgeous despite that don't-mess-with-me walk and averted stare born of necessity during a childhood marred by gang violence. I was 43, divorced with a 16-year-old son, a reformed spoiled youngest child, a middle class WASP, a lapsed Lutheran, proudly conservative, 50lbs. overweight not counting the invisible armor that was supposed to protect me from further heartbreak.
We were forced to work together on the Board of Directors where I lived. He swears it was love at first meeting. It took three months and a scary car accident that emboldened him to make his move. I never saw it coming.
It took a month for me to go walking with him at a local park after work. I agreed, thinking he would soon realize how impossible it was to overcome the obstacles between us. I hoped, after spending a few hours together, we could part as friends and continue working together on the HOA. Instead, I discovered innate intelligence, irresistible charm, humor, depth, maturity, wisdom, humility, manliness and gentlemanliness in one beautiful package – a combination of traits I never found in the dozens of men I dated from my teens through my forties.
We kept walking and talking – and I kept balking – until somehow I was eager to take the biggest risk of my life. Nine months after our first date, I married my soulmate – although I was stilled bedeviled by the fear that he would reject me in old age.
For the past 6 years, Luis has been the most dedicated partner imaginable in my battle against breast cancer. Just as I had to confront the very real possibility that I would never reach old age, his constant support and unconditional love completely erased my vain fears. Without reservation, he took in my deaf brother while I was undergoing chemotherapy – moving him 3,000 miles from Florida to our home in California when my sister suddenly died – and raised my son as his own.
When I was treated for my first episode of metastatic breast cancer in 2006, he committed his life to Christ, became an evangelist and enrolled in Bible college. Then I had a miraculous remission, the likes of which my oncologist had never seen before.
Since December 2008, I have been undergoing chemotherapy for my second episode of metastatic breast cancer, which is considered terminal and incurable. Barring divine intervention, I am in the last months or dozens of months of my life. Luis and I are fused by unbreakable bonds – the deepest of earthly loves and a shared devotion to our Savior, Jesus Christ. God has given us His peace, hope and strength. We are as happy together as ever.
Tomorrow will be the sixth Deaf Awareness Day we have attended together with my brother at Disneyland. At the last minute, I decided I should get a long-sleeved Winnie the Pooh shirt to wear to amuse our niece and nephews, who will accompany us. While shopping at a Goodwill thrift store, George Benson's uptempo version of the Jeffrey Osborne/LTD song, Love Ballad, came on the muzak system. The lyrics instantly reminded me of my wonderful husband – and I cried, which I rarely do these days.
I wish I had the time left to write a book about my amazing Luis, but these lyrics are a good start.
LOVE BALLAD (George Benson)
I have never been so much
In love, in love before
What a difference
How true love made in my life
So nice and so right
Lovers come and then lovers go
That's what the people say
Don't they know
How it feels when you love me
Hold me and say you care
And what we have is much more than they can see
And what we have is much more than they can see
Baby what we have is much more than they see
Oh baby, whoa yeah
I'm in love, I'm in love with you
I say love I never knew that a touch
Could mean, could mean so much
What a difference
And when we walk hand in hand
I feel, I feel so real
Lovers come and then lovers go
That's what the people say
Don't they know
How I feel when you love me
Hold me and say you care
And what we have is much more than they can see
And what we have is much more than they can see
Baby, what we have is much more than they can see
Better yet, here's George.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Has American Idol Found Its Best Singer Evah?
American Idol is back, which means that my only co-worker who still watches the aging juggernaut and I have something to discuss other than potential budget cuts. She is a fairly mainstream fan of Bo Bice, Chris Daughtry, David Cook and classic 1970s hard rock. We seldom agree on who should win AI, but we share important dislikes about the show – for example, the new top 36 format for season 8 that is easier than ever for the AI crew to manipulate to achieve their desired outcome.
"So," I said tentatively, after we discussed the bland performances that aired during the first top 12 of 36 week. "The guy I really, really like is Adam Lambert." Then I waited for her reaction, remembering how she considered my season 4 favorite Constantine Maroulis too flamboyant for the AI audience.
"Adam Lambert?" she repeated, searching her memory bank. "Oh, you mean the guy with all the dark hair?"
I nodded.
"I love him!" she exclaimed, as close to shrieking as I ever heard her – well, at least since David Cook's ascension last season, anyway. "He reminds me of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury and … who else?"
"Robert Plant?" I prompted. "Axl Rose?"
Before I could name my preferred Lambert soundalikes, Jeff Buckley and Matt Bellamy of Muse, she affirmed loudly, "Yes! Axl Rose! That's the one I was thinking of." Dreamy-eyed, we nodded in unison while enjoying separate fantasies of Adam bringing some tasty new music to the show.
Adam Lambert is a vocal virtuoso with video proof aplenty on the internet that he excels in enough diverse genres to attract a broad fan base – rock, cabaret, soul, and of course musical theatre. In my fantasy, he could be the most gifted and polished performer to grace the Idol stage. If he plays the AI game smartly, he could win big and so could the show.
As of this writing, Adam appears to be the only contestant with the chops and charm to rescue what portends to be another disappointing season following a high watermark year (see also American Idol 3 and American Idol 6). But, hey, no pressure! The very fate of the AI franchise and its ability to stimulate the economy may be resting on Adam's powerhouse pipes.
American Idol is a competition with predictable patterns that contestants ignore at their own peril. Here are three seemingly simple and obvious rules to achieve AI success – not just for Adam, but for any other prodigal superstars lurking among the top 36:
1. Be a genuine original. Wow us.
The AI winners – and those runners-up who parlayed their AI exposure into a viable recording career – without exception revealed an appealing musical identity unique to their competition. After eight seasons, viewers can take only so much of the same old same-old – the endless blur of pop, R&B and even country singers desperate to be the next fill-in-the-blank. Use your natural talent and persona to distinguish yourself from other contestants instead of resorting to a gimmick with a limited shelf life. Take the time to create an intimate connection with the audience. Charm us with your endearing humility, but most of all impress us with that special something that nobody else has.
2. Be consistent, but don't be boring. Surprise us, but don't confuse us.
Viewers and prospective record labels want to know who you are as an artist. However, viewers feel more invested in your success when they get to discover who you are and then watch you grow week after week. If you are already a masterful singer on day one, you need to give the audience other reasons to root for you. Show us the versatility of your potential, the richness of your lower register, and the varied dynamics of your voice. Introduce us to other genres without losing your essential musical identity. Accept Simon Cowell's criticism with good humor and incorporate it to improve your next performance. Simon is the viewers' proxy and challenging his authority is preventable suicide.
3. Always select the right song. No exceptions – ever.
Adam, do you believe in life after Cher? Believe may be an example of the type of dance track you want to record, but a song remembered for its vocal distortion isn't necessarily the best showcase to impress the audience with your chops – especially at this early stage when your musical identity isn't established and your success is far from assured. The upside of Believe is that you picked a song that is A) familiar to viewers and judges alike and B) new to the competition. This helps us understand your musical identity and concentrate effortlessly on your performance skills.
Believe this. If you cannot resist the temptation to introduce a cherished song unfamiliar to the top 40-oriented AI audience, at least pick one that the judges would know and appreciate as Jason Castro did with Hallelujah. But don't actually try to sing Hallelujah or any other sacred cows associated with prior contestants. You risk alienating fans of those contestants plus countless more by eliciting an unflattering comparison from the judges in front of millions. Better to sing a familiar Buckley hit, Last Goodbye, which would display your vocal range to its ultimate advantage – in fact, I would consider it a personal favor if you do.
"So," I said tentatively, after we discussed the bland performances that aired during the first top 12 of 36 week. "The guy I really, really like is Adam Lambert." Then I waited for her reaction, remembering how she considered my season 4 favorite Constantine Maroulis too flamboyant for the AI audience.
"Adam Lambert?" she repeated, searching her memory bank. "Oh, you mean the guy with all the dark hair?"
I nodded.
"I love him!" she exclaimed, as close to shrieking as I ever heard her – well, at least since David Cook's ascension last season, anyway. "He reminds me of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury and … who else?"
"Robert Plant?" I prompted. "Axl Rose?"
Before I could name my preferred Lambert soundalikes, Jeff Buckley and Matt Bellamy of Muse, she affirmed loudly, "Yes! Axl Rose! That's the one I was thinking of." Dreamy-eyed, we nodded in unison while enjoying separate fantasies of Adam bringing some tasty new music to the show.
Adam Lambert is a vocal virtuoso with video proof aplenty on the internet that he excels in enough diverse genres to attract a broad fan base – rock, cabaret, soul, and of course musical theatre. In my fantasy, he could be the most gifted and polished performer to grace the Idol stage. If he plays the AI game smartly, he could win big and so could the show.
As of this writing, Adam appears to be the only contestant with the chops and charm to rescue what portends to be another disappointing season following a high watermark year (see also American Idol 3 and American Idol 6). But, hey, no pressure! The very fate of the AI franchise and its ability to stimulate the economy may be resting on Adam's powerhouse pipes.
American Idol is a competition with predictable patterns that contestants ignore at their own peril. Here are three seemingly simple and obvious rules to achieve AI success – not just for Adam, but for any other prodigal superstars lurking among the top 36:
1. Be a genuine original. Wow us.
The AI winners – and those runners-up who parlayed their AI exposure into a viable recording career – without exception revealed an appealing musical identity unique to their competition. After eight seasons, viewers can take only so much of the same old same-old – the endless blur of pop, R&B and even country singers desperate to be the next fill-in-the-blank. Use your natural talent and persona to distinguish yourself from other contestants instead of resorting to a gimmick with a limited shelf life. Take the time to create an intimate connection with the audience. Charm us with your endearing humility, but most of all impress us with that special something that nobody else has.
2. Be consistent, but don't be boring. Surprise us, but don't confuse us.
Viewers and prospective record labels want to know who you are as an artist. However, viewers feel more invested in your success when they get to discover who you are and then watch you grow week after week. If you are already a masterful singer on day one, you need to give the audience other reasons to root for you. Show us the versatility of your potential, the richness of your lower register, and the varied dynamics of your voice. Introduce us to other genres without losing your essential musical identity. Accept Simon Cowell's criticism with good humor and incorporate it to improve your next performance. Simon is the viewers' proxy and challenging his authority is preventable suicide.
3. Always select the right song. No exceptions – ever.
Adam, do you believe in life after Cher? Believe may be an example of the type of dance track you want to record, but a song remembered for its vocal distortion isn't necessarily the best showcase to impress the audience with your chops – especially at this early stage when your musical identity isn't established and your success is far from assured. The upside of Believe is that you picked a song that is A) familiar to viewers and judges alike and B) new to the competition. This helps us understand your musical identity and concentrate effortlessly on your performance skills.
Believe this. If you cannot resist the temptation to introduce a cherished song unfamiliar to the top 40-oriented AI audience, at least pick one that the judges would know and appreciate as Jason Castro did with Hallelujah. But don't actually try to sing Hallelujah or any other sacred cows associated with prior contestants. You risk alienating fans of those contestants plus countless more by eliciting an unflattering comparison from the judges in front of millions. Better to sing a familiar Buckley hit, Last Goodbye, which would display your vocal range to its ultimate advantage – in fact, I would consider it a personal favor if you do.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Palin Rally Photoblogging in Carson, California
Today my brother Richard and I ventured into Los Angeles County to attend the rally featuring Sarah Palin in Carson, California – not exactly a hotbed of conservatism. From our home in central Orange County, the trip took 30 minutes on the freeway, followed by 1 hour 30 minutes to drive 2 miles on the street carrying thousands of us to the Home Depot Center in Carson.
The rally was held in the tennis stadium, which was advertised as accommodating up to 15,000. Tonight the local NBC news estimates the crowd inside and outside the stadium at 20,000. The rally was supposed to start at 1:30pm, at which time we were still in a long line that wrapped halfway around the perimeter. Richard is deaf and we hoped there were still two seats left in the area reserved for the deaf. Alas, there was no ASL interpreter and no seats left to the general public period.
Ace of the infamous Spades liveblogged here, here and here from the press tables in the nosebleed section, which aside from the press was SRO. We watched the rally standing between the press tables and I probably missed my only chance to meet the wickedly funny Ace. Anyway, 1) I don't have a clue about what he looks like, 2) I didn't have a concussion that suddenly turned me into an extrovert, and 3) I don't have anything to say to him except, "I enjoy your blog, but clean up your language, young man." So it's probably just as well.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The line into the stadium ran parallel to a small but vociferous crowd of protesters, separated from us by temporary barriers and event Security on one side and salesmen hawking McCain-Palin merchandise on the other. I was wearing silver marcasite cross earrings and my current favorite Christian-themed t-shirt (seen below in blue, whereas mine is gray).
The McCain-Palin crowd in general was covered with patriotic apparel and accessories. However, my favorite shirt o' the day read "NOBAMA: Keep the Change."
Whenever I wear anything that identifies me as a Christian, I feel an even greater obligation to glorify God with my actions. To that end, I fully intended to smile benevolently at the nutroots wackos and hold my tongue. Really, I did.
But then they started singling me out for insults because of my shirt – and I suddenly remembered I brought my camera. I knew talking to them was pointless, but that didn't stop me.
At first I stayed in line, rebutting a JESUS WAS A COMMUNITY ORGANIZER sign from a shouting distance and advising another protester to fact-check her PALIN MADE VICTIMS PAY FOR RAPE KITS sign. When I turned the corner leading to the stadium entrance, I saw a long row of protesters bearing more signs and spouting slogans. I waved to them and said in passing, "You are all welcome here but, if this were an Obama rally, we wouldn't be welcome and we couldn't bring signs. Obama's the candidate with goon squads trying to stifle free speech, not McCain."
Some protesters were flat-out funny, unintentionally of course, like the woman wearing fuzzy leggings and dangling a stuffed animal who was protesting cruelty to polar bears. Then the woman holding the brown KEEP YOUR RELIGION OUT OF MY POLITICS sign called out to me, "Ma'am, ma'am, can I talk to you?" So I walked over while Richard kept our place in line. Brilliant idea, speaking truth to the truth-defying Obama goon squads who answered his call to "get in their [our] faces." He must be so proud.
"Ma'am, do you believe in evolution?" she asked me.
"Define evolution," I countered.
"You know, Darwin's theory of evolution," she offered, a bit annoyed.
"That's one theory," I said. "I believe that God created the world and gave us life. You might think that my belief in God is just a theory. But there's a difference. My husband committed himself to Christ after we found out that my cancer was spreading through my body. Then a miracle happened, the cancer disappeared and I have been in remission for two years. Tell me how evolution could have done that."
Her polite veneer vanished. "Well," she snapped, "I have nothing to say to you."
The woman standing behind her holding the OBAMA BIDEN '08 sign pushed forward. "As a Christian," she asked, spitting out the word like it was poison, "you are against war, right?"
"Only a madman wants war," I replied, "and only a coward wants peace at any price."
"But what about the innocent people who die?" she snapped.
"We try to minimize casualties, but it's a terrible thing," I agreed, "especially when terrorists deliberately kill innocent people. What about the innocent people who died on 9/11?"
"Do you think we're better than they are?" she screamed. "That's racist!"
The woman in front holding the green NO ON PROP. 4 sign interrupted. "War isn't the answer. Didn't you learn anything from Vietnam?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "Let the Generals and military experts run the war and let them try to win. And it's better to fight the war over there instead of here." The other woman called me a racist again.
You know that picture of Obama holding his head imperiously high? Green sign woman adopted that same holier-than-thou posture and said sneeringly, "There are no winners in war. Obama's going to use diplomacy."
By this time, I was looking for an exit strategy and wishing my husband Luis, who evangelizes almost every Saturday, had come to Carson to save some lost souls. "Diplomacy for despots? That didn't work so well for Neville Chamberlain, did it?" I asked rhetorically and pulled out my camera.
Immediately thereafter, we mutually agreed to ignore each other. This picture captures their end of the deal.
Meanwhile, a few crazies away Security had to restrain an angry protester in a blue hat and dark Obama shirt. I rushed over to photograph the fracas.
"Say 'Freaks'," I yelled cheerfully as I took this picture. That drew loud laughter from the McCain-Palin line behind me where many other normal Americans were mad as hell at the nutroots wackos and not going to take it quietly any more. The gentleman on the right holding the DOPEY GRUMPY sign obliged me with a good-natured smile.
Here are pretty nutroots wackos all in a row.
In case you were wondering, this is what nutroots wackos look like from the back.
I missed the speech by Dana Rohrabacher, my Congressman. For the first time ever, he actually faces a serious opponent in his re-election bid. She is Debbie Cook, the Democrat mayor of Huntington Beach, aka Surf City USA. Cook is one of those anti-business, anti-drilling "progressives" who opposed both a Walmart and a desalination project in her town. She actually pushed the Walmart issue to a public ballot vote and lost. Vindictively, she was in the majority on the City Council that forced Walmart to pay for a completely unrelated railed sidewalk with handicap access half a mile away before they would let the store open.
Finally inside the stadium, we listened to the end of Jon Voight's speech as we jockeyed for a nearly bird's eye view of the stage. There were press tables to the left
and to the right.
Ace, is that you?
The SoCal crowd was fairly, typically diverse. I tease my son, a college student, that when he and his friends get together, they sing We Are the World. I'm no proponent of a "big tent" party just for the sake of artificial demographic diversity. But this year it seems like a naturally occurring phenomenon – one that I welcome for however long it may last.
My conversations inside the stadium were a lot more polite and edifying than outside. I was encouraged to hear tales of traditionally Democratic voters – Hispanic and Asian Americans mostly – who support McCain-Palin, which reinforces my own firsthand experience.
Here are shots of the restive crowd, waiting for Sarah.
All eyes focused on the tunnel, waiting for Sarah.
While we're waiting for the Governor, let's enjoy this classic near-hit by the woefully underappreciated Jellyfish, Calling Sarah.
Gosh, I hope I don't get a cease and desist letter.
Finally, here she is shortly before 3:00pm. "Sarah! Sarah!"
She's wearing a green jacket over a black skirt. The First Dude and Palin kids were absent. I missed Piper.
After an unexpected endorsement by the President of the Los Angeles chapter of NOW, Sarah spoke for close to 30 minutes.
She's that green-and-black speck standing behind the blue Country First sign surrounding the podium.
For the first time publicly, Palin mentioned Obama's friend, domestic terrorist William Ayers, by way of a direct reference to today's New York Times article and a roundabout slap back at Katie Couric.
Her speech was occasionally interrupted by protesters who were gently escorted out of the stadium, including a 9/11 truther. Earlier I joked with my neighbors in the Standing Room Only section that they could probably find seats after the Code Pinkos were ejected. How predictable these nutroots wackos are.
After a spirited finale, Palin stayed to greet fans adjacent to the stage. Immediately, it began to rain, so most of the crowd dispersed. Inside and outside the stadium, McCain-Palin merchandise was still available at tables and booths but at higher prices as supplies grew scarce.
Most of the protesters had dispersed by rally's end. Here are the leftovers relegated to the sidelines as exiting traffic whizzed by.
Why did the nutroots wackos cross the road?
Because Security got tired of them, too.
There was one traffic stopper.
His sign reads FREE OJ RAPED BY SOCIETY.
One minute later, the same gentleman, same sign, different side.
The back reads OBAMA FOR PRESIDENT.
Hmmm. Didn't OJ catch a flight to Chicago right after Nicole and Ron Goldman were murdered? You don't think ... Nah.
ETA: I forgot to post this photo.
See the sign on the left? It reads CHRISTIANS = PAGANISM = HEATHENS --> SWASTIKA at the top and BURN IN HELL in the flames underneath. Welcome to the Democrat Party 2008. Here's your sign.
The rally was held in the tennis stadium, which was advertised as accommodating up to 15,000. Tonight the local NBC news estimates the crowd inside and outside the stadium at 20,000. The rally was supposed to start at 1:30pm, at which time we were still in a long line that wrapped halfway around the perimeter. Richard is deaf and we hoped there were still two seats left in the area reserved for the deaf. Alas, there was no ASL interpreter and no seats left to the general public period.
Ace of the infamous Spades liveblogged here, here and here from the press tables in the nosebleed section, which aside from the press was SRO. We watched the rally standing between the press tables and I probably missed my only chance to meet the wickedly funny Ace. Anyway, 1) I don't have a clue about what he looks like, 2) I didn't have a concussion that suddenly turned me into an extrovert, and 3) I don't have anything to say to him except, "I enjoy your blog, but clean up your language, young man." So it's probably just as well.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The line into the stadium ran parallel to a small but vociferous crowd of protesters, separated from us by temporary barriers and event Security on one side and salesmen hawking McCain-Palin merchandise on the other. I was wearing silver marcasite cross earrings and my current favorite Christian-themed t-shirt (seen below in blue, whereas mine is gray).
The McCain-Palin crowd in general was covered with patriotic apparel and accessories. However, my favorite shirt o' the day read "NOBAMA: Keep the Change."
Whenever I wear anything that identifies me as a Christian, I feel an even greater obligation to glorify God with my actions. To that end, I fully intended to smile benevolently at the nutroots wackos and hold my tongue. Really, I did.
But then they started singling me out for insults because of my shirt – and I suddenly remembered I brought my camera. I knew talking to them was pointless, but that didn't stop me.
At first I stayed in line, rebutting a JESUS WAS A COMMUNITY ORGANIZER sign from a shouting distance and advising another protester to fact-check her PALIN MADE VICTIMS PAY FOR RAPE KITS sign. When I turned the corner leading to the stadium entrance, I saw a long row of protesters bearing more signs and spouting slogans. I waved to them and said in passing, "You are all welcome here but, if this were an Obama rally, we wouldn't be welcome and we couldn't bring signs. Obama's the candidate with goon squads trying to stifle free speech, not McCain."
Some protesters were flat-out funny, unintentionally of course, like the woman wearing fuzzy leggings and dangling a stuffed animal who was protesting cruelty to polar bears. Then the woman holding the brown KEEP YOUR RELIGION OUT OF MY POLITICS sign called out to me, "Ma'am, ma'am, can I talk to you?" So I walked over while Richard kept our place in line. Brilliant idea, speaking truth to the truth-defying Obama goon squads who answered his call to "get in their [our] faces." He must be so proud.
"Ma'am, do you believe in evolution?" she asked me.
"Define evolution," I countered.
"You know, Darwin's theory of evolution," she offered, a bit annoyed.
"That's one theory," I said. "I believe that God created the world and gave us life. You might think that my belief in God is just a theory. But there's a difference. My husband committed himself to Christ after we found out that my cancer was spreading through my body. Then a miracle happened, the cancer disappeared and I have been in remission for two years. Tell me how evolution could have done that."
Her polite veneer vanished. "Well," she snapped, "I have nothing to say to you."
The woman standing behind her holding the OBAMA BIDEN '08 sign pushed forward. "As a Christian," she asked, spitting out the word like it was poison, "you are against war, right?"
"Only a madman wants war," I replied, "and only a coward wants peace at any price."
"But what about the innocent people who die?" she snapped.
"We try to minimize casualties, but it's a terrible thing," I agreed, "especially when terrorists deliberately kill innocent people. What about the innocent people who died on 9/11?"
"Do you think we're better than they are?" she screamed. "That's racist!"
The woman in front holding the green NO ON PROP. 4 sign interrupted. "War isn't the answer. Didn't you learn anything from Vietnam?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "Let the Generals and military experts run the war and let them try to win. And it's better to fight the war over there instead of here." The other woman called me a racist again.
You know that picture of Obama holding his head imperiously high? Green sign woman adopted that same holier-than-thou posture and said sneeringly, "There are no winners in war. Obama's going to use diplomacy."
By this time, I was looking for an exit strategy and wishing my husband Luis, who evangelizes almost every Saturday, had come to Carson to save some lost souls. "Diplomacy for despots? That didn't work so well for Neville Chamberlain, did it?" I asked rhetorically and pulled out my camera.
Immediately thereafter, we mutually agreed to ignore each other. This picture captures their end of the deal.
Meanwhile, a few crazies away Security had to restrain an angry protester in a blue hat and dark Obama shirt. I rushed over to photograph the fracas.
"Say 'Freaks'," I yelled cheerfully as I took this picture. That drew loud laughter from the McCain-Palin line behind me where many other normal Americans were mad as hell at the nutroots wackos and not going to take it quietly any more. The gentleman on the right holding the DOPEY GRUMPY sign obliged me with a good-natured smile.
Here are pretty nutroots wackos all in a row.
In case you were wondering, this is what nutroots wackos look like from the back.
I missed the speech by Dana Rohrabacher, my Congressman. For the first time ever, he actually faces a serious opponent in his re-election bid. She is Debbie Cook, the Democrat mayor of Huntington Beach, aka Surf City USA. Cook is one of those anti-business, anti-drilling "progressives" who opposed both a Walmart and a desalination project in her town. She actually pushed the Walmart issue to a public ballot vote and lost. Vindictively, she was in the majority on the City Council that forced Walmart to pay for a completely unrelated railed sidewalk with handicap access half a mile away before they would let the store open.
Finally inside the stadium, we listened to the end of Jon Voight's speech as we jockeyed for a nearly bird's eye view of the stage. There were press tables to the left
and to the right.
Ace, is that you?
The SoCal crowd was fairly, typically diverse. I tease my son, a college student, that when he and his friends get together, they sing We Are the World. I'm no proponent of a "big tent" party just for the sake of artificial demographic diversity. But this year it seems like a naturally occurring phenomenon – one that I welcome for however long it may last.
My conversations inside the stadium were a lot more polite and edifying than outside. I was encouraged to hear tales of traditionally Democratic voters – Hispanic and Asian Americans mostly – who support McCain-Palin, which reinforces my own firsthand experience.
Here are shots of the restive crowd, waiting for Sarah.
All eyes focused on the tunnel, waiting for Sarah.
While we're waiting for the Governor, let's enjoy this classic near-hit by the woefully underappreciated Jellyfish, Calling Sarah.
Gosh, I hope I don't get a cease and desist letter.
Finally, here she is shortly before 3:00pm. "Sarah! Sarah!"
She's wearing a green jacket over a black skirt. The First Dude and Palin kids were absent. I missed Piper.
After an unexpected endorsement by the President of the Los Angeles chapter of NOW, Sarah spoke for close to 30 minutes.
She's that green-and-black speck standing behind the blue Country First sign surrounding the podium.
For the first time publicly, Palin mentioned Obama's friend, domestic terrorist William Ayers, by way of a direct reference to today's New York Times article and a roundabout slap back at Katie Couric.
Her speech was occasionally interrupted by protesters who were gently escorted out of the stadium, including a 9/11 truther. Earlier I joked with my neighbors in the Standing Room Only section that they could probably find seats after the Code Pinkos were ejected. How predictable these nutroots wackos are.
After a spirited finale, Palin stayed to greet fans adjacent to the stage. Immediately, it began to rain, so most of the crowd dispersed. Inside and outside the stadium, McCain-Palin merchandise was still available at tables and booths but at higher prices as supplies grew scarce.
Most of the protesters had dispersed by rally's end. Here are the leftovers relegated to the sidelines as exiting traffic whizzed by.
Why did the nutroots wackos cross the road?
Because Security got tired of them, too.
There was one traffic stopper.
His sign reads FREE OJ RAPED BY SOCIETY.
One minute later, the same gentleman, same sign, different side.
The back reads OBAMA FOR PRESIDENT.
Hmmm. Didn't OJ catch a flight to Chicago right after Nicole and Ron Goldman were murdered? You don't think ... Nah.
ETA: I forgot to post this photo.
See the sign on the left? It reads CHRISTIANS = PAGANISM = HEATHENS --> SWASTIKA at the top and BURN IN HELL in the flames underneath. Welcome to the Democrat Party 2008. Here's your sign.
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