“Come now, let us scoot together…” Isaiah 1:18

This is a reprise of one of the entries from my popular bi-annual blog from a few years ago.  It was originally motivated by a sharp increase in fuel costs and SHAZAM...here we are again.  The survey is no longer active because I have made my purchase.  Hope you enjoy!


I am contemplating the purchase of a scooter. I am contemplating the purchase of a scooter, (repeated twice for clarity). I have anticipated some strong reactions to this so I am giving you the opportunity to render your opinion in the accompanying poll. However, I do ask that you finish the article before you vote. You need to be informed before you make a decision that will affect my life.

An Appeal to Scripture

I diligently searched the scriptures to find support for the ‘still small voice’ telling me to make this purchase. I very quickly found two interesting passages. The first is Isaiah 1:18, which is normally rendered ‘Come now, let us reason together…’ Through the expertise of some of the guys on the Living Bible team*, and hebrewforidiots.com**, I found that the Hebrew verb yakach can also be translated ‘scoot’***. You’ll also be amazed to note that Eugene Peterson translates every mention of ‘ass’ or ‘donkey’ in the bible to its modern idiomatic English equivalent, ‘scooter’****.

Read this quotation from The Message:

"Hey Cats!  Feel the groove, my Israeli daughters.  Your king is coming (and He's da bom!) a good king who makes all things right, an humble king riding a scooter, a mere third of a motorcycle.”
Zechariah 9:9*****

And from the TNIV:

“While you should never covet your neighbor’s stuff, including his or her house or spouse, his or her servants, his or her bovine, his or her scooter, or anything that belongs to your neighbor, I particularly endorse the use of scooters because they are like Me; they are not gender-specific.”

Exodus 20:17******

Thus the bible at least is clear. Scooter use displays humility, does not discriminate, and would have been used in lieu of donkeys had they been available on Palm Sunday.

What the Spirit Is Saying to the Churches

Obviously we want to be Spirit-led in any purchase of this magnitude. Having found the support needed by scripture, we must now appeal to reason (and perhaps the rest of the Wesleyan Quadrilateral if there's time.)

PROS

Many knock-off scooters can be purchased for under $1,000.00 U.S. dollars. They get 70-100 miles to the gallon depending on the size of the engine. Some models can travel up to 65 US m.p.h. They are hip and urbane in some parts of the world, (Italy, China, Jamaica, Gatlinburg). They are sleek, stylish, and make quite a splash on the social scene. They get 70-100 miles per gallon depending on the size of the engine, (It's true). Both Al Gore and George Bush approve of the use of scooters. I would be the only Pastor (very possibly the only person) in town riding one.

CONS

I would be the only Pastor (very possibly the only person) in town riding one. There is potential for strain on my marital relationship, (see next paragraph). There is of course, what I call the sissy quotient. I fear that the bullys at work would come and push me down and knock my scooter over. Hollywood has unfairly portrayed us 'scooterheads' (I coined this phrase and expect credit) as geeks and nerds and have negatively influenced the way we 'scooterheads' are perceived in the general public. (Scooterheads Rule!). It has been suggested that there is a direct correlation between scooterheads and the hasty acquisition of tattoos (You can’t get just one). Here is the general line of reasoning: Scooters are like marijuana. They're a gateway drug. First scooters, then motorcycles, then leather, then tattoos, next drugs, then gangs, and finally the pastor is in jail for defacing public property with spray paint and bashing mail boxes.

My wife reacted to this proposition with typical candor. In the manner of Jesus' teaching, she responded with a question. "Do you know what fat people look like on scooters?" The answer is, 'Yes. I do know what fat people look like on scooters.' I don't own a bicycle for similar reasons. Now I would never consciously malign or impugn my portly brethren or bring unedifying attention to our mutual struggle with demonic strongholds like Blizzards or Frostys, but 70-100 miles to the gallon! I think I can take a little bit of guff. (When I was a kid they had a store called 'Catherine's Stout Shop'. I always loved that name. There is nothing like a direct appeal to your customer.) Okay. I am stout. I can sometimes be seen in the Big and Tall section. And it is perhaps true, that I would present an unflattering picture flying about town on my little scooter at the head of my scooter gang of scooterheads in our floral print shirts and touristy shorts and half-helmets and soul patches. I can handle it. The question is can you? Would you be embarrassed to see your pastor on a scooter?

*not really
**not really
***not really
****not really
*****my paraphrase of this paraphrase
******TNIV not actually consulted

(Editor's note: 100s of scooter now peruse the streets of Dalton.)


Do You Think I Should Get a Scooter?
A. All pastors, deacons, and elders, prophets, pinkie-ringed, swoop-haired evangelists, teachers, theologians, mail order Ph. D’s, and especially apostles, should ride scooters solely to build humility.
B. You have lost your mind. I cannot think of anything more embarrassing. Listen to your wife!
C. You are wise and frugal. Save the planet! Purchase a scooter! Scooterheads rule!
D. Scooters are spiritually dangerous. They are seductive, worldly, lascivious, and Italian. Save your soul! Stay away from scooters!

Let's Be Frank: A New Line of Intervention Greeting Cards

I’m playing around with introducing a new line of Intervention greeting cards. I can’t seem to find the kinds of cards that really say what I want to say. Por ejemplo…

I need to say, these are not all cards I would use. I don’t want a divorce. But in a business like this you have to appeal to a broad base of potential customers. I know about these things. I almost had a business once. Here are some other ideas. 1) is the outside of the card and 2) is the inside.

1. Let’s Get a Divorce!
2. I have never been so dissatisfied with a fellow human being.


1. You’re Exceptional!
2. Not everyone has achieved your level of idiocy.


1. Third time’s the charm!!!
2. Wishing you blessings during your extended confinement!


1. Was that you I saw in the ditch the other day?
2. Of all the bad driver’s in the world, you are the very best!


1. Sorry to hear you didn’t get that landscaping job! 
2. You’re probably aiming too high.


1. Sometimes you just don’t know what to say…
2. JUST KIDDING!! You choked in the clutch BIG TIME and now your life is falling apart!


1. Just so you know…
2. Both Blockbuster and Redbox give you the option of choosing your movies ONLINE beFORE you get to the carousel.


1. When everything you own is broken, rusted out, torn up or falling apart…
2. Perhaps, it’s time you took a trip to the dump.


1. Sometimes it’s good to pause and think about certain people in our lives and ask…
2. Why are you still here?


1. Thanks for asking me to come to your performance!
2. It took a lot of guts to get up there and embarrass yourself that way.


1. Way to go, Grace.
2. Perhaps you’ll discover someday that the mysterious accidents that always seem to occur around you might be due to your failure to WATCH WHAT YOU’RE DOING!


1. You TALK too much!
2. The only way I could get this across to you was in a card because you won’t let anyone else talk.


1. Unusual. Strange. Odd. Peculiar. Weird. Bizarre.
2. In increasing stages and levels of intensity, you have consistently given me the WILLIES!


1. Another night at home alone…
2. There are good reasons people are avoiding you. This might be a good time to pause and reflect on what those reasons might be.


1. You’re the BIG CHIEF…
2. in a secret mystery terrorist brotherhood called ‘The Order of Malingering Turtles’ whose agents are dedicated to tying up traffic by driving slowly in the left lane, talking on the phone through turn signals, and slowly taking all the shortcuts EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE CLEARLY NOT IN A HURRY!


1. When I see you, I see a thinker, a planner. Methodical, a plodder. You don’t rush to judgment but you wisely consider your course. You may not get there fast but you get there. You’ve inspired me to say…
2. GET OFF THE ROAD!!!


1. You help me define certain terms in my life…
2. Asinine. Self-absorbed. Obnoxious. Jerk.


1. Master Financier! Captain of Industry! Manipulator of Markets! Banking Magnate!
2. Holder-upper of drive-thru teller lines!


Can you help me get my greeting card business started? Are there any you would add?

Wrook Tru Gwasses Now

First of all, I can no longer see.  I attribute this new blindness to acute homophobia.  I broke my glasses.  Now I’ve been wearing glasses since I was three.  I can make a set of frames last a looonnng time.  So when I say I broke my glasses, I’m saying with a certain amount of expertise, they’re beyond anyone’s ability to repair.  Broken glasses are often unscheduled accidents.  I found myself having to find an eye doctor that could see me at my convenience… in this case, immediately.  So I went down to America’s Finest* Eyewear.

I sat down for a brief wait of an hour and twenty-six minutes but the time flew by because they had an issue of People magazine from November of 1992.  I didn’t know whether I wanted to read about the pitfalls of being a child celebrity featuring the stars of Full House or the feel good piece on Craig Nelson’s long-overdue triumph in Coach.  There’s also an interesting piece on the cross-over success of ‘Baby Got back’.  (That crazy Sir Mix-A-Lot!  What will he do next?)  It’s always good to catch up on events that occurred prior to my marriage.  I was holding the magazine an inch from my face attempting to be engrossed in the unfolding drama of Lenny Kravitz and Lisa Bonet’s failing marriage, when I was called back to my own private waiting room. 

Now we’re talking!  It had an ’03 Cabela’s catalog, a US News & World Report featuring Michael Dukakis’ rise to preeminence in the Democratic Party and a Sports Illustrated issue highlighting the triumph and the tragedy of noted Oklahoma running back Marcus DuPree.  I was just settling in for some serious squinting when a pre-teen Chinese girl in a lab coat stepped out and asked me to join her in the exam room.

“Pwreez step tru heah, suhl.  We ah weady fa you.”

          I blurted out, “Hey, I don’t want a pedicure!”

“Ha. Ha.  You funny.  Dey nex doa.  I no fwom Vietnam.”

          “You’re the eye-doctor?”

“Yes.  I’m youl optometwist.”

Adolescent or no, I’m here to tell you, she was not there to play around. 

          “You sit wight deah now.”

          She did not actually say “Chop, chop.”  But her entire demeanor conveyed the idea perfectly.  I found myself bowing respectfully as I immediately strapped myself into the Vision-Master 3000XLse Radial-arm Spectrograph Lens-o-meter cockpit. 

“Does this model have an airbag?”

“You no speek.  You wrook tru gwasses now.”

This device is what I think of first when I picture the word ‘overkill’.  There’s more steel in this thing than there was in my dad’s ’68 Oldsmobile.  Does this really require something so, so… substantial… just to check my vision?  I once got to climb in a belly gunner bubble on a B-17.  Same exact feeling.

“Whea twiggel?”  I asked.

“What you say?

Oops.  I confess to some compulsive disorders of which one is to respond in kind.  I used to work in a carpet mill with a great guy, but he had some r-control problems.  When you work side by side all day long with someone, it wubs off.  But he never caught it when I accidentally spoke Fuddish back to him.  I guess his hearing couldn’t distinguish the consonantal substitutions.  This turned out NOT to be the case for the middle-schooler eye-doctor. 

“I said, where is the trigger?”

She responded with another command.

“Wrook tru gwass.  Wreft eye.  Heal come puff of ayah.”

PSSSSSST!  “[expletive]”

Puff, my magic dragon!  I’ve experienced puffs.  That was no puff.  Puffs are gentle and affectionate.  Puffs are marshmellowy or cheese bally.  Puffs are crème filled pastries.  Puffs are expensive tissues.  This was not a puff.

“What you do?” she demanded.

“I’m checking for damage.  I think you just cauterized my tear ducts.”  Communist.

“No.  What you do fa wriving?”

“Riving??”

“Fa job.  What you job?”

Oh, now you want to small talk.  The fear of lawsuits brings the sunshine out in all you medical people.  After cursing through the eye-desiccating air puff, it was difficult to confess, “I’m a pastor.”

“O… dat belwry nice.  Wrook tru gwass.  Wight eye.  Heal come puff.”

Thank you for taking the time to get to know the real me.  I am so much more comfortable now.  You really know how to set someone at ease right before you send a 220 pound per square inch air puff into their eye-socket.

“Wreft eye.  Wrook tru gwass.  Wead wettels on wall.”

All I could come up with was a caption from a Dennis the Menace circa 1973. 

“Funny letter, crooked letter, round letter, straight letter.”

“Ha. Ha.  You wrewree funny pasta.”  She said this the same way my wife says, “Stop wasting my time, dork.”  She began the lens switching procedure.

“Wrook tru gwass.  Wreft eye.  Mowah queeah?  Wress queeah?”

I couldn’t answer.

“Mowah queeah?  Wress queeah?” she demanded.

“Less queer!  Less queer!”

“Good.  Again.  Mowah queeah?  Wress queeah?”

“Less queer!  Less queer!”

It continued just like that until we had thoroughly tested both eyes for queerity.  The good news is everything is less queer now.  The bad news is I can’t see anything with my new glasses.  Nothing is in the right place.

I am now bifocular.  I require the use of bifocals.  I am going to require acupuncture to deal with the additional neck fatigue associated with my bifocularity.  I suspect some familial collusion.

To further aggravate my growing pain in the neck, my “free” pair of prescription sunglasses would not be available in the promised  hour.  They would be shipped to America’s Finest direct from Hong Kong as soon as that frame model became available again.  If I had known then how much hair-yanking, fist-shaking stress the daily search for those sunglasses would cause me (through no fault of the noble Chinese), I would have driven into the nearest telephone pole.  I almost did several times anyway but not intentionally. 

As I was driving home in the wrong lane rubbing my air-seared sockets, desperately needing those sunglasses because of my newly acquired eye sensitivity, I pondered the source my curious craving for Garlic Chicken from the Panda House.

*name change to protect Hong Kong’s interests