REPURPOSING A GRANDMOTHER CLOCK

This grandmother clock is my most recent repurposing project. I started thinking about the idea of worshipping time and it occurred to me that we might be better served by worshipping books and religions that help us live in the present moment. I found this solid walnut clock for $25 on Craigslist, and spent another $50 or so on walnut shelves, stain, and an IKEA light. The hardest part of the project was gutting the clock compartment as the original German builder used glue to attach the internal joists. Grandmother clocks are typically shorter than grandfather clocks and also have a tendency to live longer and use coupons at fast food restaurants. 

FIRST UNITARIAN SOCIETY OF DENVER

I started doing church reviews like the one that follows because everyone that I've met in Colorado thinks that Colorado Springs is full of religious zealots. I was curious if the churches here lived up to their reputations, so I decided to sit in and review as many as I could. The cross scoring system is a bit confusing, but just remember that five crosses in any category is the best possible score. 

Building Aesthetics: t t t. Real buildings, like real men, are made of stone. First Unitarian is a grand castle-like building without the moat. Then you go inside. The inside doesn't feel like the outside. To me there should be continuity. The sanctuary feels ephemeral. Carpet is a bad choice in any situation, but especially in commercial endeavors. The beige carpet was full of stains from what my imagination suspected was from incontinent members or the blessing of the pets service. I always prefer a pew to a chair in a church setting. Churches invented the whole pew seating arrangement, and when I go, I want to sit in one. They help build that feeling of community, and the wood helps to warm the sanctuary. I did like the simple "Frank Lloyd Wright-esque" stained glass windows. They supplied a sufficient amount of light from the outside world. The focal point of the lectern was the organ, and if an alien were to attend service here, he might suspect that Unitarians actually worship this instrument.

Creepy Glazed Eyes: t t t t. Unitarian churches in Colorado seem to be havens for rag-tag groups of Caucasians. This service was attended by just about every variety of white person under the sun: young, old, gay, blind, and those wearing oversized shoulder pads. People seemed thoughtful and kind though didn't radiate happiness or inner peace. 

Hassled by Members: t t t t. Not one hassle here. No one made me stand up, greet my neighbor, or offered to exorcise my demons. It might have even aired on the side of too little community. Nobody tried to talk to Julie or I other than the Revered saying a brief "hello" as we exited. I appreciated that no one bothered me as I took photos of the sanctuary, but what a missed opportunity for small talk, something like, "nice camera...what the hell are you doing?" I also noted again today that knitters seem to think it's appropriate to practice their craft in any given situation, including during a church service. You'll never find a welder with such audacity.    

Religious Time Management: t t t. The Reverend Mike Morran seemed like a thoughtful man, but struggled to find a good balance between conviction and humility. Today was Easter Sunday, so the service was peppered with jabs at other "less enlightened" forms of Christianity. I'd rather the Unitarians rise above this and stick to their usually self-deprecating humor like this classic: Why did the Unitarian cross the road? To support the chicken in its search for its own path. This service even had a communion-like ceremony where the congregation came up to receive jellybeans. Again, this seemed like a jab at Catholicism and their "silly traditions", and I ate my jellybean with some remorse. The service did have a good flow, though I think a prayer begs for brevity, and selfishly, today's prayer was like a mini-sermon. A long prayer is like calling God during dinner to ask if he is happy with his car insurance, mistaking his kindness for interest, and proceeding to deliver your entire rehearsed spiel to his deaf ears.  

Misinformation: t t t t. Unitarians are usually pretty good about keeping their facts straight, and today's service was no exception. The Reverend did however have a joke that bombed. He was talking about what was going on in Jesus' head as he was being crucified and proceeded to imitate his pose on the cross and quipped, "ok, get on with it!" Silence. It would be tough for a room full of Saturday Night Live writers to make that sketch work.  Two rules of comedy: never follow kids, and never mimic Jesus on the cross. 

Presence of God: t t t. I do feel that a proper God would have a soft spot in his heart for the Unitarians. They are good, thoughtful people who care deeply about their spirituality. If God were doing the rounds here I think he might just peak his head in the door, give an approving nod, and move on. He would know that the people inside are in good hands, but not feel any desire to sit through the service. And that's the feeling I took away: I wasn't surrounded by God's presence, but this place was clearly on his radar. I was moved during an a cappella version of "The Flower Duet" (Sous le dome epais) sung by a blind girl. It was beautiful, and I think God came back for it. 

Overall Inspiration (total score): t t t. I didn't grow spiritually, but I didn't shrink either. In any given week, we shrink more than we realize, so I was happy to remain spiritually neutral. I did like a few of the Revered's points, for instance, that Jesus wouldn't recognize modern Christianity and that you know you've created God in your own image when he hates the same people as you do.  

CHRIST IN THE DESERT MONASTERY

Christ in the Desert Monastery is located approximately 13 miles from nowhere in the desert mountains of northern New Mexico. We found ourselves camping down the road and ended up stumbling into a Sunday service. It's pretty surreal to walk in on 40 monks who sing the entire service. There are two main jobs for monks at this monastery: thinking about god and brewing beer, hopefully in that order. The beer they brew is bottled under the Monks' Ale label, and is crafted in what they claim is a 1400 year old monastic brewing tradition. I thought it might be nice to spice up communion with a little "blood of Christ" brew, but alas, the ruts of tradition run deep in Catholicism.

SAINTS AND SINNERS LIQUOR: ESPANOLA, NEW MEXICO

I'm told that the owner of this liquor store has been offered tens of thousands of dollars for his sign by swarms of wealthy, loft owning New Yorkers, and has turned them all down. He won't sell the sign, but he will slap the logo on shirts, hats, flasks, and even underwear. The sign is just one more example of the handmadeness of things that we have lost in this country. A guy somewhere in Espanola built this sign, and did so with equal parts creativity and skill. It has become a well known landmark in a way that a chinese-made Chili's sign never will.

GRANT SABIN AT FRONT RANGE BBQ

Grant Sabin is a great musician to see for free at a BBQ joint. He does this unusual thing where he plays with passion and soul. His music is a type of Mississippi house blues made popular by the likes of RL Burnside and Junior Kimbrough, who are both on the Fat Possum label. Sabin is on a local label called Blank Tape Records. I figured if I mentioned multiple record labels that readers would assume I knew what I was talking about. As a side note, it occurred to me last night that almost all of my favorite musicians, myself included, tend to play sitting down. There is something about stomping your feet in the seated position that coaxes forth the music demons.

SWEEPING UP HOMELESS CAMPS

Here are a few more photos that I took for the story on homeless dumping. I was amazed at what the clean-up teams found. Can you spot the broom in the top picture? I'm not sure that's a necessary item when you live outside. When Thoreau said, "Simplify, simplify, simplify", I think he was specifically referring to brooms. What does it say about our culture when even our homeless are hoarders? I mentioned in my last post about some peoples inability to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. This is especially hard if you abandon your boots, regardless of your artistic abilities. I call the third photo "Fuck Your Charity". It is a collage of uneaten organic granola bars interspersed with business cards from a local church (the donor of said bars). And lastly, you know you live in Colorado when a homeless girl leaves her medical marijuana to be thrown out. To be fair she also left her state ID, so perhaps she forgot about the scheduled "clean-up" and was out trying to secure a broom.  

CARTOON FONT BELITTLES SERIOUS ISSUE

Photographers generally have no say in the typeface that accompanies their photos. Had the above piece been about creative graffiti or anything weed related I think the choice might have worked. But homelessness is a bit more serious. The writer, J. Adrian Stanley, tried to broaden the scope of the article, but it's really about how the city's homeless set up camps along the river and squat until they are asked to leave by police (the police give them bright orange eviction notices, I'm told with compassion). The homeless go somewhere else but leave all their trash for the city and delinquent teens to pick up. We're talking about pickup trucks full of trash from each camp. It's a problem. That being said, I wouldn't want to be homeless in Colorado Springs: it's cold and the people here aren't very tolerant. It is a bootstrap kind of community, where the haves inherit generationally tried bootstraps that work more like dyna-bands than shoelaces, while the homeless are left wondering what crack-head stole their shoes.