The Final Post / 2blokesblog

Okay, so I sought advice, I thought about it, heck – I may have even said a prayer. But I’ve decided not to carry on with my anonymous blog, God is my Director. 

HOWEVER, I’ve started a new blog (under my real name), with my good friend/Christian media megastar Dave Rose, and you can find it, right now, at:

www.2blokesblog.blogspot.com

You are very welcome! 

Thanks for coming to GimD!

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To blog, or not to blog

Ok, so life has been somewhat crazy in recent months, and so – having left this inactive, I have a choice. I stand, if you will, at a crossroads: do I keep going (i.e. start blogging regularly again), or shut this blog down?

I’m fairly secure, so please feel free to be honest in your answer. Please reply below, or send me an email: godismydirector@gmail.com.

I’ll either post the result… or shut this thing down, in a couple of weeks then!

Cayenne Pepper cures my sore throat

I have to be very careful with this, thanks to the litigious culture we now live in, so let me make clear I am NOT RECOMMENDING THE FOLLOWING as a cure for sore throats. I’m sure if you try it, you’ll have some awful accident. So don’t sue me, okay?

Now I’ve got that out of the way – I’ve been suffering for the past few days with a really chronic sore throat – the sort that makes you wonder if you accidentally gargled with some broken glass. It was horrifically painful (although admittedly, I am a big wuss), and I could barely sleep or even swallow. After a few days of plenty of drugs and no improvement, I seriously began to wonder (because I’m a big wuss) if I was going to need my tonsils removed. In desperation, I turned to everyone’s secret best friend, Mr Google, and searched for other cures to sore throats. I found one, which turned up in a few different places, which suggested gargling with 1/8 teaspoon of Cayenne Pepper (the really hot stuff you put in Chilli) mixed in with a cup of hot water. Like a fool, I tried it, and it only succeeded in burning my mouth.

Now, the website (which was dedicated to road-testing old wives’ remedies) stated that you had to persist with the ‘treatment’ several times, and at 15-minute intervals. My throat was killing me, and so I did. Four treatments later, the pain had drastically reduced; four more after that, I was able to swallow without much discomfort at all.

So thankyou Mr Google, and thankyou Mr Cayenne, for inventing your fine pepper. But remember: don’t try this at home.

Back again

Just returned from a very relaxing two week holiday, so massive thanks to my good friend Jill Rowe for insisting I take a proper summer break this year.

It’ll be a slow few months now… just got to talk to some youth workers at Soul Survivor, hop on a plane to America again, finish two screenplays, sign off a book, host two youth ministry conferences and then settle down for a relaxing Christmas of turkey, presents and helping my wife through labour.

There’s nothing like having a slow pace of life. I should live in the countryside really.

Notes from America – Pt 5: Wrigleyville

For the thousands of people who’ve been wondering what happened at the conclusion of my recent trip, here you go. You’re about to find out the ending. Get ready for the big finale. Block out your weekend to read it. Does Harry die? Does Jim? You’re about to find out..

We’d stayed up a little late on Friday night. Perhaps we were afraid of the nightmares we’d have about the big scary mutant bugs, I don’t know. Anyway, we’d run into two people with very sad stories – sad for very different reasons. The first was a middle-aged lady youth worker from a different part of the country, who’d flown in to Chicago for the Willow Creek Arts Conference. She wanted to sit and talk to us in the bar, and she showed no signs of ever wanting to stop. Midway through the conversation, she spat out a fairly significant revelation about her activities the previous night which to her obviously didn’t seem that strange. Even more sadly, later in the evening we saw her getting ready to make exactly the same mistake again. Anyway, I’m aware that I’m not sinless enough to throw stones at her – Jim and I were simply saddened that this lady clearly did not receive enough love, support and attention in her life, and therefore had bought into a lie about the places we can otherwise get those things.

The second sad story belonged to a guy who had flown halfway across the country to compete in a World of Warcraft battle card tournament at the hotel. And sorry, but I’m allowed to throw stones at THAT. Jim and I wandered down to the ‘battle arena’ (a ballroom with lots of tables in it) later that weekend, and found around 100 grown men caught in some sort of teen-angst timewarp, wearing Megadeth t-shirts and making jokes about goblins. There were two women in there. One was dressed as a pixie and was almost certainly being paid to be there; the other looked like she was ready to throw her suddenly-much-less-attractive boyfriend into Lake Michigan.

That long, long story is my way of explaining that despite having SWEET tickets to the baseball game, Jim and I overslept. That’s not to say we missed the game – it just ensured that the morning was a little more madcap than we’d intended.

We travelled to central Chicago – which, it turns out, was not anywhere near the supposed ‘Chicago’ hotel we’d booked – by train, and bus. The train was very different to British trains – firstly of course it was on time, and secondly, it was shaped like a great big tin can. Inside, I felt exactly how I imagine a sardine might feel, although thankfully American trains are not filled with brine. On the train we coincidentally met a family who attend Willow Creek, although thinking about it, that was only like a 1 in 3 shot, considering how many people they get on a Sunday. Then we hit the bus – which was unremarkable except for the fact that the driver could not have been more of a sitcom stereotype if she’d changed her name to Chandler and asked ‘could this bus be any fuller?’ She was an extraordinarily shouty African Caribbean lady, with all the patience of a gnat with attention deficit disorder.

‘I’m sorry, do you have change of ten dollars?’ I asked in my autopilot Hugh Grant voice.

‘WHAT? CAN’T YOU READ THE SIGN? NO CHANGE! I CAN’T MAKE CHANGE! GET OFF MY BUS’ she replied, very moderately I thought.

‘Okay… does anyone else have change?’ I asked my fellow passengers. Someone did – but it was taking far too long for bus lady’s liking.

‘GET OFF MY BUS! IF YOU AIN’T GOT CHANGE, GET OFF MY BUS!’

So she was lovely. Anyhow, a couple of kind-hearted Irish bloked sorted us out with change just before she went Vesuvial on us, and we were allowed to ride. We got to the stadium – the world famous Wrigley Field – literally five minutes before the start, and it was then that we realised how God was surely smiling on us. Chicago Cubs vs San Diego Padres – even that fixture seemed ordained. And with seats like these – right behind home plate – surely we were about to be treated to a festival of sport…

Baseball. Not a lot happens, does it? For three hours, pretty much nothing happens, truth be told. A guy throws a ball at another guy. The other guy swings and misses, swings and hits it backwards – which means pretty much nothing, or swings and hits, and then generally gets caught by some other guy. That’s it. Add to the fact that the game we saw ended 1-0 to the visiting team (pretty much the worst possible result in terms of sporting value), and on paper, it sounds like the worst day out since Legoland ran a ‘don’t touch the bricks’ day.

But in reality, it was fantastic! Not least because we witnessed a real rarity – a great big fat fight on the pitch! Now I’m as much of a pacifist as the next Republican, but this was too much fun to worry about morals. I’ve posted this video clip before, but to save you rooting around…

Wrigley field is as amazing a sporting stadium as you’ll find. Set literally in the heart of a residential area – a little like Arsenal’s old Highbury stadium in London – the low sides allow you to glimpse the bustling (and slightly 1930s-feel) Wrigleyville outside, and of course allows people in high enough buildings to peep in. After the game, we headed for those very buildings, to sample a little more of the local culture.

In the end, our social experience was saved not by our nationalities, but by our national game. We went for a drink in a very busy bar, which we were attracted to by the sight of plasma screens showing a (real) football match – the first we’d seen in America. To our amazement, even though the US national team was playing, there was barely anyone paying attention (to be fair, we’d wandered into a slightly wild place – there were a few crazy bachelorette parties around). But then, we noticed two guys transfixed by the screen. Next thing I know, Jim’s talking to one of them (he’s always chatting to guys in bars, that one), and the moment after that, we’re sitting with them. Bradley and Jimmy – for that was what they were named – were die-hard English football fans living in a country of ignorance. I mean they’re ignorant about football, obviously.

Bradley and Jimmy not only took us under their collective American-eagle wings – they also took it upon themselves to show us the very best of Chicago’s night life. Quite by accident, we’d found ourselves a tour guide. And we had a great night, which saw us weave through some of the coolest spots in the city – including a quite amazing 80s bar at which I befriended and then practically replaced the DJ. Dexy’s Midnight Runners, we salute you (guess you had to be there).

We’ll almost certainly never see those guys again. But one thing was interesting – the hospitality and friendship which they extended to us that evening was equal to anything I’ve ever received in my life. Good guys.

Ah. I’ve run out of time. I apologise – you still don’t get to find out if Jim survives. I shall attempt to rectify this as soon as possible. Bye for now.

The Harry Potter finale secret

WARNING – IF YOU’RE TRYING TO AVOID POTTER PLOT SPECULATION, MAYBE DON’T READ ON… 

There’s been a lot of talk about plot leaks of the seventh and final Harry Potter novel, and particularly Internet spoilers about the ending, but I wonder if JK Rowling offered a big clue to anyone who’s read a gospel, in an interview with Canadian journalist Max Wyman.

Asked if she was a Christian, Rowling answered:

‘Yes, I am, which seems to offend the religious right far worse than if I said I thought there was no God. Every time I’ve been asked if I believe in God, I’ve said yes, because I do, but no one ever really has gone any more deeply into it than that, and I have to say that does suit me, because if I talk too freely about that I think the intelligent reader, whether 10 or 60, will be able to guess what’s coming in the books.’

Is Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows heading for an Aslan-style finale?

This is what my DNA looks like

Benevolent Creator

Got this from a site called Personal DNA – you can also stick it on your facebook. It’s supposed to be an accurate breakdown of my character, with each colour representing a different part of me. Would be so much better if I could tell you which part is represented by which colour…

Apparently I’m a Benevolent Creator, which makes me sound ever so slightly like the Liberal view of God. What fun.

Summit in view

Sorry for the lull in posting – I’ve been working desperately to finish my second screenplay, which has been cryptically titled ‘Project CS’ since I started this blog (not for pretentious reasons – but because it’s SO DUMB that you’d get the plot from the title).

Anyway, looks like I’ve got about 15 pages left to write, after which there shall be loud whooping in these parts. Listen out for it.

Warning: porn

This blog has been classified PG, apparently, according to this site. It’s been determined as so because of two mentions of ‘porn’ and one of the word ‘stab’. Just click the link above to find out the rating for your blog.

Ht to Marko. Now please, someone tell me what ‘Ht’ stands for.

Robbie bootleg video strangeness

Ok – so this is a bit weird – a video clip has appeared on youtube, which features British pop megastar Robbie Williams – just out of rehab, showcasing a new song which appears to be pretty much in-your-face Jesus-advocating in places. He says at the end of the clip – which also includes the f-word, so you have been warned – that this is a new song called ‘Bodies’ which he’s written with his friend Brandon. Have a listen to the lyrics – which include the repeated line ‘Jesus really died for me’ – and judge for yourself: is it genuine or a wind-up?

LANGUAGE WARNING! THIS CLIP CONTAINS SOME SWEARING!

Facebook: Johnny arrives eventually

Soaring ahead of the trends as usual, I have finally got around to registering on the social networking website Facebook (I explain what it is in the vain hope that there’s at least one person out there who’s even further behind the times than me). I’ve been pestered by work colleagues for months, and could resist no longer. Having been thoroughly unimpressed by MySpace, my expectations were not high. However, having amassed 200 friends in five days (all my own work, I’m sad to say), I’m now searching for the Facebook equivalent word to ‘Crackberry’. ‘Crackface’ doesn’t really work for me.

I see a huge danger already emerging however. Half of my friends (including various young people and ex-young people, if you know what I mean) are Christians, and live happily in Christian-ville; the other half are from my pre-Christ-following era, during which I was fond of the grain, the grape, and a couple of other things. There are two ways this could go. One involves a series of very bony men emerging noisily from a cupboard. The other involves a wonderful series of new connections between those who know Christ and those who don’t yet – resulting in hundreds of Damascus road conversions. Personally, I’m plumping for the skeletal option, but maybe I have trust issues.

This is why I love THE MAN Lee Mead

And Andrew Lloyd Webber… and Jesus Christ Superstar. But not really the Scottish fella who sings first. Not so much.

Notes from America – Pt 4: Chicago

And the legend continues…

Our hotel in Chicago – well, Schaumburg if you’re going to be picky – was the Renaissance – a massive, spanking new hotel / conference centre with about a billion rooms and some impressive architecture and interior design. When we got there, Jim immediately started running around with his camera, as if he’d had to win a golden ticket to get in there. Our hotel room was fantastic, and I say that for one reason:

A television, in the bathroom.

Better than that – a TV which was built into the bathroom mirror, and which only stopped being a mirror when you turned it on. Idea being: if you’ve got a desperate call of nature, and you’re enjoying the latest episode of Desperate Housewives, you don’t have to miss a minute. Although quite why that’s an issue in a country with five commercial breaks an hour, I wasn’t quite clear.

Early Friday morning we followed our new Sat-Nav, in our new, (total rip-off) hire car, to Willow Creek Community Church. The Sat Nav sent us to Canada, meaning we almost didn’t make it to the church for the final day of their Arts Conference. Fortunately, we realised that it was going snowier, turned around, and got there – quite in spite of the directions we were being given – just in time for the start.<

I can’t really put into words what the first session did to me. I was privileged to hear the story of a couple who are worship leaders at Willow. They’d had a truly traumatic few years, which involved the very premature birth of twins. Although one of the babies was entirely healthy, her sister faced many, many problems, and almost didn’t overcome them. She lived, but she had many serious medical problems, including profound deafness. The couple were devastated – and for a year or so, life for them was just about existing; getting through the next day. And because they were being real, and honest, they admitted how angry they had been at God. They had thought at times about giving the whole thing up. But they stuck in there – and in retrospect they can see how God carried them in the toughest times. They were amazing people.

As this couple told their story, both through words and then through music, it was very hard not to put myself in their place. And as I did, I don’t mind admitting that I started sobbing involuntarily- something I don’t do often. All around me, people were crying too. And then something hit me about this church – something wonderful. I was hearing this story for the first time, but many others were not. This church had walked with these two people, in their pain, in their struggle, in their doubts. It struck me that whatever people say about this ‘mega’ church, it’s truly expressive of what I think church should be about – people who journey together, whatever that really needs to mean.

After that, we were treated to the wonder that is Donald Miller. I heard him a few months ago at a Youth Specialties convention, and thought he was a pretty average communicator. Well, now I repent. Don’s theology of Romeo and Juliet (my title) was just wonderful – probably one of the best three Christian talks I’ve heard in my life. I know a lot of people have already noticed, but this guy is important.

Finally, we were treated to ‘scribble’; a session led by Erwin McManus and a creative arts team from his Mosaic church in Los Angeles. What a precociously talented group of individuals. If I was feeling critical, I’d say that Erwin’s talk – which was woven into the mix of drama, dance, comedy and music – was just as rehearsed as the rest of it, and for that reason it lost a little resonance and impact. Still good though.

We left the extraordinary Willow Campus (it’s like a University, except bigger), but not before checking in with Youth Ministry legend Bo Boshers. Great guy – and what a servant to youth ministry he has been – so that was a bit of a privilege. From there, we raced to a couple of too-boring-to-tell-you-about meetings, but then came the weirdest part of the trip (and one of the top 10 weird moments of my life. That’s right, it’s time to tell you about the big scary mutant bugs from the planet Splurg.

We had to travel to a different part of the Chicago suburbs to meet Steve Wright – brother of my good friend Dave – who had hooked us up with super tickets for the baseball the following day. Steve lives in a nice little street, normal in every way imaginable… except that it had been INVADED BY GIANT MUTANT MONSTER INSECTOIDS FROM BEYOND THE STARS! Sorry, I’ll stop doing that.

What actually happened is that Jim and I pulled up outside his house, and could hear the horrific screaming of hundreds of tiny voices. In that respect, it was like standing outside a screening of Norbit. In addition, there were giant bug-eyed insects flying past, landing on and generally being far too close to our car.

‘Go on then’, said Jim. ‘Go get the tickets.’

‘You go and get them!’ I whimpered in reply.

Jim pushed me out of the car. I can only imagine that the Lord himself protected me in the moments that followed. For while both Jim and Steve were attacked by bugs (which, incidentally, are harmless), I escaped unscathed. Had one of them landed on me, I should surely have required new undergarments. I mean, these muthas were mean!

Steve explained why he’s prepared to live in a street with a monster bug infestation, and things made a little more sense. Turns out these were Cicadas – insects which appear only once every 17 years(!) before breeding and then dying off again a few weeks later. Apparently it was an utter privilege for us to even see them! That’s nice, but it sure didn’t feel that way.

Anyway, the previously ‘big man’ Jim screamed like a girl when one landed on his shoulder. Steve handed over the absolutely ace seats, and we were on our way again. The evening was wasted in the time-I’ll-never-get-back quest for Jim’s wife’s shoes, and to make matters worse, we ended up eating at Rockin’ Roger’s diner, or something like that… which turned out to be America’s worst restaurant. Robbie’s Rod maybe?

Couldn’t take the shine off a great day (Reggie the Robber?) full of exciting new people and horizon broadening. And to make things much more exciting, we had a baseball game to look forward to in the morning…

The big Doctor Jesus Finale

Alright, now I’ve come out of the closet as a Whovian (ouch – up that boy’s Nerd Test score now!), I might as well blog about my first love. The final episode of Doctor Who Series 3 seems to have split fans down the middle. Some think it was a messy piece of trash TV filled with cop outs; others, like me, think it was wonderful, and a reminder of how lucky we are to have Russell T Davies writing for television.

I’ll try not to spoil it for those who’ve yet to enjoy – but if you really don’t want to know anything before you get around to watching it, you should probably read no more of this post.

As had been widely publicised long before the big onscreen reveal in episode 11, the finale saw the return of The Master – the thinking man’s supervillain. Played rather theatrically by current golden boy of British TV John Simm, his plan was to destroy the earth, and then the universe, and this wasn’t played out in comic book style – quite the opposite – as Davies’ made several visual nods to the Third Reich. In fact, the episode began in a kind of ‘what if the nazi’s had won the war?’ scenario, with a people enslaved, armed police patrolling the streets and giant weapons under construction everywhere.

However, the biggest cultural reference seemed to be 30BC. A people desperate for a saviour whose name had become legend. Check. Said saviour turning up and saying – ‘don’t look at me, there’s someone else coming along whose sandals I’m not worthy of untying…’ Check. And the conclusion – which I’ll not spell out here – is so very Christ-like that you’d be forgiven for thinking that well-known humanist Mr Davies has violently switched his religious allegiances. With a little explanation, this episode has perhaps unintentionally become the best evangelistic tract since Journey into Life. And that never had any monsters in it.

What’s that all about then? Could it be that Jesus’ story is so important, and so true, that it’s woven into the fabric of creativity itself? Did Russell T Davies have any idea Who’s story he was really telling? I’d love to know the answer to that.

Anyway – great television, and another successful season for the show they claimed was dead. Bring on the Christmas Special – allegedly starring Kylie Minogue!

Closing on 10,000 hits…

I am excited – honest – today could well be the day (if, as I write, 70 more people visit GimD today) that I finally perforate the 10,000 hits barrier. This will place this site in an elite league including Google, the BBC and Microsoft, all of which have had more than 10,000 people visit their sites.

So come back soon – and bring a friend!

5 Things you probably didn’t know about me…

Have only just realised that Len tagged me on Boxing Day last year (!) with this little challenge. You have to list 5 things that people don’t generally know about you. As an anonymous blogger, this should be fairly simple, but we’ll see…

1. I have a truly enormous collection of Dr Who memorabilia. Well, these days, my parents’ loft does. But from the ages of 11-16 (the pre-first-kiss years I’m afraid), I accumulated over 200 books, 60 videos and a range of action figures, mugs and badges. I could quote from episodes at will. I knew the names of all the actors who operated the daleks. During much of this time, I was what real doctors call, obese. I kissed a girl in Norfolk,  in summer 1995, and the curse was lifted.

2. I once interviewed Darth Vader for my University student newspaper. Or rather, I interviewed Dave Prowse, the guy who was in the big black costume in the original Star Wars trilogy. He told me he was shocked to realise, at the first screening of Star Wars: A New Hope, that his own Devon-accented voice had been dubbed over with the infamous canyon-deep tones of James Earl Jones. ‘Luke, I am your faaaaaather’ would not have been quite the same.

3. I’m a huge Billy Joel fan, and have every one of his albums, live and studio, on my iPod. Thus if anyone tags me to do this ‘shuffle’ thing that’s floating around the blogosphere, I shall have a very dull reply. For the record, ‘Scenes from an Italian Restaurant’ is better than ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.

4. I like to tell people that my favourite book is Money by Martin Amis, as it makes me sound edgy and intellectual. My real favourite book is ‘A Squash and a Squeeze’ by Julia Donaldson. Or possibly an old Dr Who book…

5. I went to the wrap party for the new Transformers movie. I spent ten minutes talking to a guy who did some of the effects on Optimus Prime, without realising that the guy next to him –  whom I was ignoring – was none other than Hollywood legend Jon Voight. I also ran into famous director Tim Story in a toilet once. We didn’t say anything to each other, but we did nod. 

Having realised that I am far more of a sci-fi geek than I ever knew, I shall tag Amanda. I choose her by way of apology for saying ‘in your face’ to her over the alphabet typing game incident.

Mini golf game

Oh no, now this is worrying. A very addictive free crazy (or mini, if you’re in the US) golf game. As if I needed more things to distract me from the disciplines of youth ministry, screenwriting and being a grown-up.

You have been warned not to click this link . (I didn’t say that because there’s porn on there or anything.)

Not a nerd

Just picked the nerd test up from Marko. I’d say ‘ht’ to him, but of course, as a non-nerd I have absolutely no idea what that means. Here’s my score:

Click here to do it yourself.

I saw the fight!

Ok, so if you’re following my out of date travelog this is slightly out of sequence but I just can’t sit on this any longer – I went to my first ever baseball game in Chicago last week – the Chicago Cubs against the San Diego Padres at the world famous Wrigley Field. It was all pretty dull to be honest – but then my new favourite American Sports Star, Derrick Lee, got hit deliberately by the nasty bowler man. This is what happened next – Lee’s the one in the middle of the picture in the white shirt. And don’t talk to me about morals and pacifism, people – I WAS THERE!!!

Seriously, what is this?

This is my beloved nation’s best effort at an Olympic logo.

This proves that we are now totally rubbish at anything which even contains the word ‘Olympic’. 100 metres – fine, that’s to be expected. But logo designing? You can’t blame that performance on the wrong weather conditions.

It seems bizarre to me that so much money and so many people could have led to this. How did no-one ever step in and say, ‘it looks like vomit’? How did it come to this?

I know, I know – it’s easy to criticise – except I am one of about 65 million people who genuinely believes he could have done better. In fact, I’d wager my two year old son, Mini-GimD, would have done no worse. Even my unborn child… in fact… wait… is that our baby scan photo…?

Notes from America – Pt 3: San Diego to Chicago

With unusual promptness, the legend continues.

Woke on Wednesday, having finally shaken off the time difference, and almost immediately found myself in an area that looked pretty similar to my best idea of paradise – a great big sunny beach in San Diego. Jim and I had been strongly instructed to find our way to Kono’s, a renowned eaterie which counts ‘breakfast burritos’ as a speciality. The ocean view, laid-back feel and good conversation may have contributed, but I can only tell you, that Kono’s ‘breakfast burrito #3’ is the nicest thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. Even now, I wake up in the night, salivating, and sadly realising that I’m not really about to eat one. Suffice to say, eggs, bacon, potatoes and other assorted ‘stuff’, all wrapped up in a flour tortilla, and big enough to feed a wrestler.

After walking off that slightly heavy fry-up-in-a-wrap, we made our way back to Youth Specialties, to spend some more time with Marko and the gang. We dreamed dreams together; came up with a few ideas that could be seriously wonderful news for youth workers all over; we generally had a GREAT meeting. Best bit was when Marko asked a guy who was on the phone from Colorado to text message a guy who was downstairs from us, to ask him to join the meeting. And he did! The world is truly the size of a pea these days.

After that, we headed off to a mall with one of the YS staffers, on what I now like to term ‘Jim’s big fat wild goose chase’. Jim was desperate to find a pair of shoes – apparently called ‘Rocket Dog Platform Sandals’, which to me just sounds like a randomly generated series of words. Nowhere had them, and I can say that with some authority, as we visited EVERY SHOE SHOP IN CHRISTENDOM. Afterwards, the three of us retired to the quite lovely Cheesecake Factory – a chain they don’t yet have in fair England, although if they’re interested in a franchise thing, I’m sure I could broker it.

We had another lovely evening in Marko’s beautiful back garden, where we got to know his wife Jeannie a bit better. She’s a thinker, that one, and also appears to know almost everyone in the world. She wasn’t until that evening aware however that she’d also met fabulously popular musician and Christian Corinne Bailey Rae a few years ago – and I was able to explain the connection. From her reaction, I’d be surprised if she’s stopped talking about it yet.

The following day was dull, and unfortunately, not worth a post of it’s own. We flew from San Diego (sunny) to Chicago (scary big mutant bugs). On which, more later…

Much harder alphabet game

Oh no. Remember the stupid alphabet typing game? Now there’s a new version – you have to type the alphabet backwards as fast as possible. I’m at a depressing 17.6 seconds right now.

Here’s the new version – Finger Frenzy II….

And tell me – did it give you a headache too?

Rob Bell interview – one question exclusive!

I interviewed my buddy Rob Bell the other day for the August issue of Youthwork magazine, and there was a spare question that I couldn’t fit in. However, I thought the answer was so good that it was worth publishing here as a very short GimD exclusive. Woo-hoo!

GimD: Why is there such an issue with porn addiction among youth pastors and other Christians?

Rob Bell: ‘Well it’s available in ways like it never was, so it’s easy. In the same way that all sorts of things, were they readily available, would change things in our culture. Imagine if hard drugs were available to everybody? The best way I understand this is: there’s an adult video store at the end of my street. The door is at the back and the parking lot has a fence around it. So the guys go in, but you can’t see who they are. And I would say that if you’re parking in a lot where people can’t see you and you don’t want people to see who you are or what you’re doing, that’s shame. Shame always comes from some kind of wound.

So I would argue you have a generation of men who have not properly engaged the world with their strength. It’s a deeply male wound – they do not know how to relate to her, but to exploit her is a false intimacy that they still crave, but don’t know if they can do the real thing… and so there is a whole generation who don’t have a story. Somewhere, they have sold their soul to something which wasn’t the adventure or revelation they signed up for. A deeply wounded male who is craving adventure and intimacy – and now it’s a available… ‘click’. So it’s a convergence of factors – technology, narrative, not having a story, and a culture that doesn’t know how to let people in.’

I thought that was rather a good answer, and far more eloquent than my own stab at the issue.

How to stay humble as a blogger…

Just check out Marko’s stats!

The man is a blogging phenomenon. Can anyone in the youth ministry world claim to get hit more often?

Baby GimD no.2

A bit of news – Mrs Director is pregnant with our second child – due, would you believe it, on Christmas Day! Obviously I’ve known for a while, but now we’ve had the ‘safety’ scan, I’m proud to announce  the news to the world. Obviously I’m very excited, and hoping that he/she will follow in my footsteps as an anonymous blogger. Would post a scan pic, but frankly the one they gave us was rubbish – it looks like a still from the first Batman film – you can hardly make anything out.

Thanks go out obviously to God for giving us a lovely bouncing foetus. We shall look forward to Christmas with great anticipation, and I shall now make all sorts of hollow threats about naming him Jesus if he’s born a boy on the actual day. If it’s a girl I shall call her Donkey.