Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Best of TV

In a recent issue of Entertainment Weekly, the magazine chronicled what it felt were the best shows on TV. While several of my favorites found their way to the top ten, I was more surprised by how many of EW's choices I didn’t watch (or no longer watch). While you may find this surprising, I actually watch very little TV—5 ½ a week by the numbers. There are some shows that look great but I avoid just because I don’t want another nightly anchor around my neck.

So it got me thinking, what are my favorite TV shows? Pragmatically, I guess they’d have to be the ones I let into my home each night.

And they are…


The West Wing--While it has only a few episodes left, The West Wing is still one of television’s reigning princes. Sure, it suffered when creator and writer Aaron Sorkin and producer Thomas Schlamme left, but a season later it rebounded with grace and vigor. When you think about it, these days the show is more like a spin-off series of itself, tracking two timelines—life at the White House and the rancorous Presidential campaign with which it will soon swap places. While it saddens me that so good a show has not been renewed for an eighth season, truth is, I actually wanted it this way all along. I’d rather the show end with the Bartlett administration than continue with a new President, no matter who he might be. The show’s wit, rapid-fire dialogue and deeply moving storylines created an inspiring political arena where America’s highest ideals meet her most passionate titans. Bartlett in 08!


How I Met Your Mother--This freshman comedy is pitch-perfect, delightfully cast (none better than Neil Patrick Harris), and as hilarious as it is genuinely touching. Each episode is a flash-back, told to the narrator’s kids as an explanation as to how their folks met. It’s a gimmick that works in a show that felt like a polished gem from its pilot episode. It’s been the breakout comedy of this season and it might just be destined to become a classic. In a line-up of traditional, uninspired sitcoms, this one is truly must see!


The Amazing Race--Let me just get something off my chest in the very beginning. Producer Jerry Bruckeimer is the devil. His films (Armageddon, Pearl Harbor, Enemy of the State) are some of the worst slop Hollywood has to offer. Why is it then that he does such great TV?! While I don’t have much use for most reality TV, The Amazing Race is a staple of my week. Teams of two race almost 100,000 miles across a half dozen continents, taking on culturally significant tasks in an adult scavenger hunt for one million dollars. It’s been called travel porn. If so, I’m addicted.


Lost--Lost is the ultimate TV jigsaw puzzle, presenting more questions than it answers. The intelligent, layered writing is steeped in plumbless metaphor and deep spiritual themes. The cast of relative newcomers have become overnight stars by creating rich, complex characters. No one on this show is who they seem. And that includes the largest character of all—the island is dangerous, beautiful, spooky, and undeniably intriguing. The same could be said of the show.


Survivor--It’s not the king anymore and it’s pulling out all the stops to remain interesting and relevant, but I can’t seem to stop watching. Everyone needs a guilty pleasure. It’s the ultimate social experiment—sorta. This season, the show’s back in top form with contestants we love to love and love to hate.


Battlestar Galactica--It’s been called “the best show on TV” by the likes of Newsday, Rolling Stone and TIME magazines. In its ranking, EW ranked Battlestar Galactica above even LOST. And with good reason. BSG is utterly brilliant. It’s dark, sexy, adult, politically and philosophically drenched TV. More West Wing than Star Trek, this is a space opera that never loses sight of the people that power it. Consistently strong and boasting one of the finest ensemble casts around, BSG is quite possibly the most powerful drama out there.

So, which ones am I missing? Which ones can’t I do without? Let me know…

"Just Sit Right Back and You'll Hear a Tale..."

The Carnival Spirit

As I've said before, this is more an idea-driven blog than an event-driven blog. Still, sometimes you experience something too good not to share.

Stephanie and I just got back from a cruise to the Mexican Riviera. My father-in-law invited us to join him and all of Stephanie's siblings for an eight day cruise down the Pacific side of Mexico if we agreed to attend a handful of financial and real-estate lectures (his field) that were being conducted while the ship was in transit at sea. Of course we all agreed.

The Family (Stephanie's dad is taking the picture)

We almost didn't make it to the cruise. Our plane from Denver to L.A. was turned around enroute when a passenger begin experiencing a minor heart attack. As a result, we missed our connecting flight to San Diego and went through three stand-bys before finally getting in. As we had Stephanie's sisters' boarding passes, there was the potential for a very unfortunate vacation.

Luckily we made it in time and I found myself delighted to be back in San Diego where I'd spent over a year in naval training. While checking onto the ship, I watched S-3 Vikings, the jet's I'd flown in, buzz around the skies with the next crop of trainees.

As a guy on the aviation side of the Navy, within a few moments of easing out of San Diego and heading toward the open ocean, I'd put in more sea time than I did in five years of naval service!

One of the two formal nights

The Carnival Spirit is essentially a giant slice of Las Vegas put to sea. Casinos and Vegas-style shows abound and while we peeked in on each, we preferred to grab a book and lay out on the deck or just stand at a railing and watch a world in which there was nothing but frothing ocean as far as you could see.

I shared a few delightful moments in Italian with the captain, a Sicilian, though discovering that the ship's senior staff was composed mostly of Italians made me wonder if we'd ever reach our destination. “Domani, domani.”

Thanks to GPS, we were able to chart the ship’s progress on the TV in our room. Humorously, these same TVs were fed with satellite signals of each of the major networks beamed from, of all places, Denver! While we watched our home state get inundated with snow, we all gleefully sat out and got sunburns. Well, maybe not so gleefully.

I made a pact with myself before we left. Unable to get fresh seafood in Colorado, I pledged to eat seafood for every single meal. I succeeded but for one or two breakfasts.

Cliff divers

It was wonderful to pull into port, wander off the ship and thrill at the aspect of finally being in a foreign country again. It had been far too long.

Our first stop was Acapulco where, among other things, we watched the famous cliff divers scale sheer rock faces and at just the right moment—when the tide surged—throw themselves off into the rocky inlet below. But Acapulco was in the middle of a festival, overrun with Mexican revelers and while lively, was not a particularly relaxing locale.

That would come the next day in...

Our beach

... Zihuatanejo. This tiny beachside town held a special place for my brother-in-law and me as we adore the film, The Shawshank Redemption, and this is where Andy Dufresne goes after he escapes from prison at the end of the movie.

Zihuatanejo is a charming little town and we spent our day beneath a thatched umbrella drinking margaritas out of pineapples and tequila and rum out of coconuts, reading, and snorkeling among exotic corral reefs festooned with all sorts of beautiful sea life.

I'm a sucker for the ocean. Must be because I was raised in the mountains. Whatever the reason, I will live on the beach some day.

Anyone seen a commercial around here?

Likewise, the next day, in Manzanillo, we relaxed on the beach and snorkeled around jellyfish to a massive shipwrecked cargo vessel, lost over 50 years ago.

It's not a real cruise if there isn't a toga party!

Sunset at sea

After pulling back into San Diego just over a week later, Stephanie and I rented a car and headed for L.A. for a visit.

A friend of Stephanie's works as a Post Production Coordinator at Warner Bros. We were able to get a fascinating VIP tour during which we visited the giant mixing stages, the ADR dubbing stages, the score stages, the editing booths, etc. currently hard at work finishing this summer's likely blockbuster, Poseidon. We bumped into the director, Wolfgang Peterson (Das Boot, Air Force One, Troy), as well as the producer, Duncan Henderson (Dead Poet's Society, Harry Potter, Master and Commander) and the editor, Peter Honess (Rob Roy, L.A. Confidential).

As phenomenal as that experience was, the real treat was stumbling upon the West Wing stage while zipping around the lot in a golf cart. Giddy with the sort of excitement only prepubescent girls usually exhibit, we walked the halls of our favorite TV show and even found the Oval Office. Bradley Whitford (Josh Lyman) was inhaling some catered grub just a few feet away.

I told you never to call me on the Red Phone!

We also spent a few days with my 7th-grade locker partner, best friend, best man at my wedding, and Hollywood actor, Kris. Beach volleyball...a movie at America's most famous theater, Mann Chinese...we even took in one of his improve shows.

Ahhh! Brandon's doing "King of the World" on the front of the boat again!

All in all, a very nice vacation. It’s not every trip that you learn how to shelter your investments in an off-shore account, properly board a lifeboat, fold your beach towel into a monkey, how much aloe human skin can absorb before reaching absolute saturation, that the great Richard Dryfuss is an unmitigated horses behind and that you, yes you, my friend, have a great looking aft!

A Short History of Nearly Everything

"A man said to the Universe: 'Sir, I exist!' 'However,' replied the Universe, 'the fact has not created in me a sense of obligation.'"
–Stephen Crane

And what was I reading so avidly on said cruise, you ask? Only one of the best books I’ve laid eyes on in as long as I can remember.

No, it’s not Shakespeare or Hemingway—it’s a science book. That’s right. I’m a geek. I go on a cruise to the Mexican Riviera and I bring a textbook…sorta. When was the last time you came away from a science book saying it was one of the best things you’ve ever read?

Welcome to Bill Bryson’s “A Short History of Nearly Everything.”

I first discovered Bryson from his “Walk in the Woods” which inspired my brother and me to hike the Appalachian Trail. Not that we’ve actually done it yet, mind you. But we’re inspired.

To prepare for what the New York Times has predicted will become “a modern classic of science writing,” Bryson—who is not a scientist himself but felt compelled to confront the unknowable and unravel the very mysteries of the universe—devoured scientific texts, scoured the planet for important sites, and spent time with some of the world’s leading minds.

“A Short History…” covers everything. From the Big Bang to black holes, the ice age to isotopes, dinosaurs to DNA, evolution to E=MC2. It is, as it states, an encapsulation of the history of all space/time. From the conception of the universe to you and I, here, today. All this in one cohesive narrative. Not that it’s an ambitious book or anything.

Can we know the answers to the really looming questions about our universe and ourselves, Bryson asks. How did we get from there being nothing at all to there being us? This being Bill Bryson, he answers with delightful wit, acute incisiveness and rollicking fun.

“A Short History…” is one remarkable revelation after another, illuminating just how colossal, infinitesimal, complex and just plain quirky our universe is. What we know is every bit as fascinating as how we know it. From the first clever experiments to figure out how much the earth weighs to today's enduring efforts to describe the origins of life itself, “A Short History…” makes clear that science is not a final destination but a humbling process undertaken by all-too-human people. The book is suffused with tales of the odd turns and the knock-down, drag-out personal battles between scientists whose genius was rivaled only by their lack of civility.

I cannot recommend this book highly enough. But be warned, you just might finish the last page, quit your job the next day and set out to become a particle physicist. It’s that good.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

CONFESSION--PART II: Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

“May God’s grace give you the necessary humility. Try not to think—much less, speak—of their sins. One’s own are a much more profitable theme! And if on consideration, one can find no faults on one’s own side, then cry for mercy: for this must be a most dangerous delusion.”
-C.S. Lewis in ‘Letters to an American Lady’

In his fantastic book, "Blue Like Jazz," Donald Miller has a chapter titled simply, "Confession."

As the chapter opens, Miller tells of an annual festival that occurs at the college where he attends, in which the student body notoriously degrades into anarchy with students racing around the campus drunk, stoned or naked—and often all three. He and some friends decide to use the weekend’s festivities to “come out of the closet” as Christians. Their plan is to set up a confessional booth in the middle of campus and let the partying students just wander in.

What makes the chapter so phenomenal, however, is just who is going to be doing the confessing.

“'We are going to confess to them,'” says Miller’s friend, Tony. “'We are going to confess that, as followers of Jesus, we have not been very loving; we have been bitter, and for that we are sorry. We will apologize for the Crusades, we will apologize for televangelists, for the way government always uses God to manipulate the masses into following them, we will apologize for neglecting the poor and the lonely, we will ask them to forgive us, and we will tell them that in our selfishness, we have misrepresented Jesus on this campus. We will tell people who come into the booth that Jesus loves them.'”

Later, Miller admits, "I thought to admit that we had done any wrong was to discredit the religious system as a whole, but it isn’t a religious system, it is people following Christ; and the important thing to do, the right thing to do, was to apologize for getting in the way of Jesus. It would feel so good to apologize. I wanted so desperately to say that none of this was Jesus."

I’ve always liked the idea of the Catholic confessional booth. It just makes sense to me. If it was up to me, I’d have several installed in every mainline evangelical church.

I think the evangelical church recognizes the need, though not perhaps the solution. Why else have things like group and accountability partners become such an integral part of the modern evangelical church? Could it be because we realize there is a deep and unfulfilled need here?

Truth is, we can’t fool ourselves. We know we’re rotten and need to confess. There are even websites like Daily Confession where you can confess your sins to cyberspace and anybody who happens to log on. And thousands do so every day.

I think we’ve forgotten the importance of confession. Sure, we confess to God in our prayer life, as we should, (“Search me O’ God and see if their be any wicked way in me." -- King David) but there is something about laying yourself bare before another person, risking exposing your dark side, trusting in their unconditional love and support, that fulfills a very human need. It also acts to foil our innate pride and selfishness and remind us of the true condition of our hearts.

Not only does the Bible command us to “confess your sins, one to another” but there always seems to be something liberating in the act of coming clean, of finally telling another person the thing that has been eating at us for so long.

No one is suggesting that absolution comes at the hands of a priest or the one to whom you are confessing. That power lies with Christ alone. But confessing our sin to another person reveals it to be a palpable, tangible thing with very real consequences.

Our hearts cannot be pure where there is hiddenness or deception.

A person of great faith isn’t above confession. A Christian should not approach confession with fear or shame, but as an opportunity to rejoice in God’s mercy. Their life isn’t a tangled web of rules. Nor is it a simple formula. It is an encounter with Jesus Christ. Our faith cannot be in liturgies or formulas or even in the sort of forward progress we discussed before—it has to be in Jesus.

As someone slowly making his way down the Canterbury trail, one of the single biggest differences I've been able to discern between the liturgical and evangelical traditions is humility. Evangelical traditions are so very sure of themselves, so very proud of their positions, so very confident in their unbreakable rightness. Liturgical positions, more often than not, seem so penitent, humble, so very aware of our human fallibilities and the likelihood of our errancy—both corporately and individually.

I love the way this stance is woven into the weekly liturgy. The service moves in several acts, almost like an elegant Shakespearian play. The liturgy rises and falls like the breathing of a single pair of lungs. One of the most moving of these punctuation marks is the moment when, before we partake of communion, we confess our sins to God and one another.

The celebrant begins:

“Almighty God to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid…”

And we respond:

“Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart: we have not loved our neighbor as ourselves. We have injured those you commanded us to love. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. For the sake of your son, Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us, so we can delight in your will and walk in your ways to the glory of your name. Amen.”

What I love about this confession is that it leaves nothing out. Not only are the sins of our deeds and words accounted for, but our thoughts as well. Moreover, sin is not just something one does, it is often found in those things we ought to do but don't.

There is another response that can be given to the celebrant. This one reads:

“Almighty God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Maker of all things, Judge of all men; We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, Which we, from time to time, most grievously have committed, By thought, word and deed, Against thy Divine Majesty, Provoking most justly thy wrath and indignation against us. We do earnestly repent, And are heartily sorry for these our misdoings; The remembrance of them is grievous unto us; The burden of them is intolerable. Have mercy upon us, Have mercy upon us most merciful Father; For thy Son our Lord Jesus Christ's sake, Forgive us all that is past; And grant that we may ever hereafter Serve and please thee In newness of life, To the honour and glory of thy Name; Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

There are some I know who find my liturgical bent of the past few years difficult to deal with. One of their primary complaints lies in the recitation of printed prayers. Imagining that all prayers must be spontaneous to be valid, they believe regurgitated prayer to be of reduced power, or worse yet, powerless to begin with.

But reciting a prayer, actually reading it outloud, allows one an even greater focus on the words that are being said. I have a hearing friend who translates for the deaf. Oftentimes he finds himself at seminars, church services, speaking engagements or college classes where he must translate topics of which he has little to no comprehension. However, by the end of the session, he understands it--at least to the degree it has been presented—thoroughly. In fact, he's told me that if it is a topic about which he is very interested, he actually wants to translate instead of merely being an audience member. The reason? By hearing the words and running them through him mind one at a time, digesting them and regurgitating them, he comprehends and retains so much more than if he were just hearing them.

Recited prayer is very much like that. In reading a prayer and saying it aloud, one cannot help but focus on the language used and its intended meaning. It is not absorbed by hearing only, but in thought and speech. It engages multiple senses. I find that immensely moving.

Finally, before we make our way forward for the Eucharist:

“We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy…”

Even if you don’t know the story of the Canaanite woman from Scripture, you probably know the phrase, “we are not worthy to gather up the crumbs under thy table.” It is from her confession, found in the Gospels, that Thomas Cranmer, the reforming archbishop of Canterbury, fashioned "the prayer of humble access." No communion service is complete without it. The liturgy progresses in a rhythm—the bidding to confession and general confession, absolution, comfortable words of encouragement, and a final prayer for worthy reception of communion—the prayer of humble access.

I find it beautiful, because it puts us in our place. There is nothing in us, nothing we have done, are doing, or will do that makes us worthy to approach God’s mercy. We are, in fact, not worthy to even partake of his refuse. But it is God’s character to have mercy…always...and forever. And because of that mercy, we can boldly confess our sins and approach his forgiveness time after time after time after time.

Martin Luther once said, "Sin boldly, yet more boldly still believe."

At first glance it appears that Luther is taking advantage of Bonhoeffer's "cheap grace" and the belief that the Christian has access to forgiveness and can therefore sin freely and willfully. Yet nothing could be further from the truth. What Luther is saying is that God calls us to live out our faith in the world boldly, courageously, utterly without fear of what others may think or of whether we're going to do or say the wrong thing.

No, we won't always get it right. Sometimes we will fail spectacularly. Sometimes we may sin egregiously. Even all of our good works in life are tainted with sin. But we mustn't stop living out our faith—dialoguing, loving and making the sort of difficult choices we are called upon to make, while all the more clinging boldly to Christ's righteousness to cover us when we screw up. Our confidence in the Christian life is based not on the flawlessness of our judgments and actions, but on the promises of God's Word.

Once again, that confidence begins with “I'm sorry..."

...and “thank you.”

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

CONFESSION--PART I: I'm Sorry and Thank You

Did you grow up with someone—a parent, an Elementary or High School teacher, a Sunday School teacher—who had unfair and unrealistic expectations of you? Did you ever feel like there was no way you could measure up or ever hope to impress them, let alone achieve the least that was assigned you?

I used to feel that way about God. Sometimes, I admit, I still do.

Among its many commandments, Christianity tells its adherents to be holy as God is holy.

No big deal. Just be prefect. Overnight.

Then it turns around and tells us that perfection is impossible and gives us Christ to blot out the sins we cannot help but commit.

It's easy to get confused. Hell, it's easy to get disillusioned, angry and defeated.

There's a bumper sticker that reads "Christians Aren't Perfect—Just Forgiven." Not a big fan of that one. Not a big fan of 99.9% of Christian bumper stickers to be honest. If they come off as trite, priggish and sanctimonious to me, how must they appear to the rest of traffic?

Still, it does bring up a good point, a point many Christians try to make with a tiny piece of sticky paper on the back of their car but then obliterate because of how they live their lives. Perfection, as God is perfect, is unattainable. But it is something for which we must always strive. Each time we come to God for forgiveness of our sins, we get that much closer to reflecting Him.

Perfection is impossible. It is also an ultimatum.

It's like another bumper sticker, “Visualize World Peace.” Personally, I don’t think such a thing is possible. But it won’t stop me from visualizing it, won't stop me from working for it. Because in doing so, I get that much closer to it and while the ultimate goal is never quite achieved, the world is that much better for my efforts.

But the truth is, you can't work toward world peace unless you admit there is bloody unrest across the planet. In the same way, you can't ask for forgiveness unless you first admit that you have sins which need to be forgiven.

I was raised in a Christian tradition that rarely focused on humankind’s sinfulness. We preferred to talk about God's supernatural power. It was almost always about the power, the razzle-dazzle, the—dare I say it—sexy side of Christianity.

Oh, sin wasn’t ignored or denied, but the thought seemed to be, “God’s work saved you. You are now empowered by God’s Holy Spirit. Go and sin no more.” To talk about humankind's sinfulness was seen as a sort of admission that Christ's power wasn't enough. To dwell on our sinfulness showed a lack of faith in God's gift of salvation.

While it might be assumed that a conservative, Pentecostal upbringing would embrace the idea of confessing your sins, it didn’t. The closest thing we had was the altar call to "rededicate your life to Christ." This was done because almost everyone, it is assumed (and rightly so), at some point and time, to one degree or another, wanders away from and abandons God, and begins to live again like their old selves. In my church, everyone went forward for the rededication altar call at least once or twice a year.

"Was I bad enough to be labeled a backslider or am I safe enough to just offer up a prayer of repentance? How can I be sure? What if I'm wrong? What if I've lost my salvation and I'm going to hell?!"

However, if you did it too often, people began to talk.

“Have you seen how often Brandon has gone forward lately? He must have really strayed from the faith. I wonder if he was ever really saved.”

One of the most striking differences between the denomination in which I was raised and the one in which I find myself as an adult is the Christian's orientation to sin and forgiveness.

The Anglican attitude is that, like it or not, Christians are sinners—saved sinners who have a constant access to forgiveness—but sinners nonetheless. Therefore, whenever we come before God corporately, we always enter into public confession and cleansing. (More on this next week.)

Put simply, the Anglican’s attitude throughout every moment of the day is, I'm sorry and thank you, I'm sorry and thank you...

Like so very much of the liturgy when I first began attending an Anglican service, this element was strange to me. Public confession, while not completely unrecognizable, was, nonetheless, not something to which I was accustomed. It felt odd, out of order. Where was the monthly altar call? Where was the offer to rededicate your life to God? Did they really do this every single week? Didn’t they trust in God?

The truth is, it's human nature to want to chart the progression of our lives in a straight line. As if our existence could be charted on a sort of industrial graph, we imagine a line ever moving forward, ever progressing, rarely dipping or bottoming out. We like to see ourselves as ever-improving.

Within Christianity, especially the denomination into which I was born, we like to think that, given enough time and work, confession becomes unnecessary, a sign of a young and immature Christian, something to be seen only in the rear view mirror of our spiritual journey.

Unfortunately, life isn’t a nice, neat arc from beginning to end. Working out our salvation doesn't follow a straight line from baptism to resurrection or from a sinner’s prayer to eternity. That's why the scriptures tell us to “work out your salvation" in the first place. It's not easy. It's not simple. It's not a slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am, now my life is perfect sort of thing.

Whether we like it or not, whether we recognize it or not, a holy and devout life is less like a line and more like a rhythm—a constant, repetitive, staccato rhythm of repentance and praise. Today, tomorrow, for as long as we live.

I'm sorry and thank you...I'm sorry and thank you...

We cannot ignore God’s work in our lives, but we cannot ignore our sinfulness either.

Some call it hypocrisy: “How can you preach about being holy and blameless and then turn around and sin yourself.”

Because one is what I was born into and the other is what I a becoming.

Hypocrisy is not failing it, hypocrisy is faking it.

The Christian has to learn to live with this dynamic tension. They must have the determination and acceptance to live, privately and publicly, with the gap between what they are and what they ought to be. Besides, the greater the gap, the greater the space for God's power and grace to fill.

It’s Esse Quam Videri in the Latin. To be, rather than to appear.

We must yearn for authenticity. We must strive for a realness in our Christian living, thinking and feeling. Though we will never be fully able to expunge the individual and corporate acts of dishonesty for which we are perpetually guilty and constantly thwarted, we can at least acknowledge, one to another, that life…that we…are ragged. That's the whole point.

Closing that gap is both impossible and essential.

And it starts with, I'm sorry and thank you...I'm sorry and thank you...

More on the idea of confession next week... My thanks to Father Theron Walker for helping me flesh out some of these ideas.

It's The End Of The World As We Know It

Bad theology meets bad technology:

As if the books weren't bad enough, they made movies. As if the movies weren't bad enough, now they've made a video game...of Left Behind.

Does shameless consumerism and Christian trite know no bounds? Apparently not.

Now you too can join with God to fight the forces of Satan as he claims the earth in the Apocalypse.

Oh God spare us. No, really. Please! Spare us.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

"Are you out of your Vulcan mind?!"

Different people handle grief differently. When Tony Alleyne's wife left him, he decided to embark on a renovation project to keep his mind off his troubles. Many months, 14 credit cards, £100,000 and a bankruptcy later, his apartment was indeed transformed...

…into the Starship Voyager.

Tony, Tony! If you thought the renovation would bring back the women, you may want to reconsider. I mean, come on! If you want to reel in the chicks, you can’t turn your English flat into the Starship Voyager!

Everyone knows that for that you’d need to turn it into the Starship Enterprise.

Gotta say this for him, though. The apartment looks fantastic. He replaced his refrigerator with a warp coil, the walls with moulded bulkheads, touch-panel blue lighting, portholes for windows, a command console, and a life-size model of the transporter room with vertical lights to give the illusion of being beamed up.

And my wife thought I was obsessed with Star Trek.

Honey...honey, wait, where are you going? Leave the credit cards, won't you?
Ut In Omnibus Glorificetur Deus