I mentioned last week that there are certain songs that put my heart right in the seat of Doc Brown’s DeLorean and take me right back to that time period from my past. The song paints a picture in my minds eye, and I’m able to step through the frame and dance along in time.

But this week, I had almost the exact opposite experience. I get to that experience at the end of this post. If you are short on time (or patience), just skip to the end and check that out.

What comes to mind when you hear those first few plucks of the guitar from Simon and Garfunkel? If you can’t bring it to the top of your mind right now, just click the video below to give the first few bars a listen.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Does it take you to a specific time/place? Do you immediately recall a particular movie where this song was predominately or subtly featured?

For several years, I would always remember the song as the background music in Roy Munson’s alternative rent payment aftermath from the movie Kingpin.

Roy spends the scene kneeling in prostration to the porcelain god, losing his lunch, over and over again. His landlady offers a few colorful plaudits of his sexual prowess, while finishing the obligatory post-coital cigarette and redressing herself. In an understatement of understatements, she is not an attractive woman.

Somewhat surprisingly, I don’t quite feel comfortable linking to the scene from here… But you have YouTube, right? You can find it if you so desire. I won’t tell anyone.

As Roy retches and gags (along with the audience), the opening lyric is clearly and hauntingly audible:

Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk to you again…

We smile at the play on words, and shudder at the thought of being in such a position ourselves.

It wasn’t until 2008 that I learned that the scene was actually a parody of the 1967 film, The Graduate, with Dustin Hoffman. While I always remembered Hoffman as Hook and/or Rain Man, I had a vague understanding that he was kind of a big deal back in the day before these roles.

When you watch The Graduate, you quickly notice the tone that it sets with its soundtrack. The Sound of Silence plays in the opening credits, during a fantasy montage in the middle, and in the iconic and ironic final scene on the bus.

I won’t spoil the film for you, but seriously, it’s considered one of the top 100 films of all-time. Number 17, to be exact, according to the 2007 revision. Get on that, will ya?

But let’s get back to that song.

If we, as a society, had to decide on the most appropriate song for the contemplation of choices and consequences, The Sound of Silence would surely be in that conversation.

Exhibit A would be the raw, emotionally-rich, and moving performance by Paul Simon during the 10th Anniversary of the September 11th attacks in NYC. For me, personally, it captured my feelings of pain, regret, sadness, and sympathy in a way that no other act of remembrance did that day. My post from that day remains (as of this date) the highest visited article on my website. I would guess that it has more to do with that song than my prose.

Exhibit B comes from yet another film. In Zak Snyder’s adaptation of Watchmen in 2009, the song plays through The Comedian’s funeral. The camera pans across the faces of almost every important character in the film. No dialogue is spoken, and none is needed. The song does the heavy emotional lifting, so the actors don’t have carry it all by themselves.

As Art Garfunkel put it in the introduction to what might be the definitive version of the song (in my opinion):

There are times when I’m singing one of Paul’s songs, that I feel that the song is uh, very personal and probably shouldn’t be sung by anyone other than the writer. But, there are other songs that… go beyond one person.

Do you agree?

Click here to view the embedded video.

But instead of just letting this song be soaked with melancholy, contemplation, and regret, with little hope for redemption, let me leave you with the reason I felt compelled to write this article in the first place:

This 8 1/2 minute short film features a rework of the song by einsauszwei. Like the Watchmen sequence, there is no dialogue, at least not audibly. It will make sense right away. Seriously, give up 8 1/2 more minutes of your life and check this out. I will even put forth a money-back guarantee that you will be glad that you did.

Without further ado:

Click here to view the embedded video.

It’s a beautiful film, in so many senses of the word. And it’s helping to redefine my experience of The Sound of Silence.

If the silence is indeed deafening, perhaps that is still a good thing.

Adieu.

Have you ever had a Saturday schedule so empty and lame that you wondered if you could possibly squeeze two naps into it just to spice things up a little bit?

I found myself starring right down the barrel of one such Saturday just this past weekend. I get to have my children stay with me every other Saturday and Sunday. This was not my weekend. A quick scroll through Facebook revealed that my friends were all either out of town or otherwise engaged. Fun was being had, but not by me.

When I came across a status update from Foxy Shazam, I immediately remembered that that night was the CD release party for the band’s new album, The Church of Rock & Roll. This was the same band that I had previously set out to see live, only to be chagrined by the concert selling out before I could purchase my tickets.

A couple of quick Google searches let me know: A) that there were still tickets available, and B) that a trip to the band’s hometown of Cincinnati would take about four hours. With a couple of texts, I was able to procure a couch to sleep on after the show, and convince myself that it was an idea of real merit, if not brilliance.

Before I could even talk my myself out of it, I was cruising down the interstate on a pilgrimage to the Church of Rock & Roll.

The live experience was everything that I could have hoped for. While I expected to be (by far) the oldest and least hip person at the venue, I pleasantly discovered that I was neither. There was a huge mix of Foxy faithful in the crowd, and I quickly felt right at home among my fellow parishioners.

This was no church, at least not in the sense that a church has a steeple, pews, a pulpit, and stained glass. But it was a church in the sense that there was a throng of people expecting to be changed, a charismatic leader to be listened to, rapturous music, and folks collecting money to help with the good works being done.

By the time they played this song, I couldn’t be sure if I was really in a church or a concert hall:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Because of the lighting, none of my pictures really turned out. However, this spectacular failure did yield one fascinatingly appropriate image.

The guys put on a categorically amazing show. Sky (with his crazy long beard), stood on top of his keyboard, stomping the keys right along with the song. Daisy spent a good 30 seconds balancing his bass, upside-down, on his fingertips, in the middle of another song. The horn player, Alex, when he wasn’t swinging it around wildly, managed to toss his trumpet at least 20 feet up into the air… and catch it in time to blast a high C, right on the beat.

But it was Eric Nally, as I expected, who ruled the show.

There were the standard head bangs and stage dives, and even a bit of miming an archer with his arrows. While I can’t recall all of his antics that night, I am sure that he gave a few displays of his mic trick, and even told some crazy half-relevent stories to segue between songs. But the most memorable moment happened when he solicited the crowd for a cigarette, was subsequently showered with a few dozen of them, further requested a lighter, took five of the cigarettes, lit them, sucked in a couple of puffs, then proceeded to eat them. All of them. While still lit. Filters and all.

If you can’t believe that, perhaps this YouTube video from an earlier show might act as Exhibit A:

Click here to view the embedded video.

You even get a glimpse of Sky on the keyboards with that one.

By the end of the night, I no longer wondered if I had made the right choice in coming.

This was an experience that I hadn’t had since college.

It was a rebirth into a scene that I had once been fully fluent in.

While much of my former life is still smoldering in ash… I believe that a phoenix may rise just yet.

It was now official… I had been baptized into the Church of Rock & Roll. And oh, how sweet it is to be saved…

I realize that I am in something of a heightened emotional state right now, and my moods have been more dramatic in some usually innocuous situations. Whether I’m driving in my car, in a social setting with music pumping in, or working with a little Spotify in the background, a soundtrack has been developing in my heart and mind over the past month or so. I’m confident that these songs will become a part of my personal history, working in the future to hearken me back to right now.

Without further ado, I’d like to give you a peek into my soul, and share with you my music of this moment:

One of my top bands, Foxy Shazam, offered a recommendation for a zombie-filled music video on Halloween (Disclaimer- the video is a strong PG-13). As far as I can tell, Our Vinyl Vows is a California band that no one (other than Foxy) has never heard of before. They seem to be a typical post-punk, guitar-driven, three-chord band, bitching to whomever will listen, about whatever seems to be wrong with the world. But after listening to their only studio album (You, Me, and Einstein) for a couple of months, the common thread seems to be a prolonged dealing with breakups and heartbreaks.

To hear this guy sing, you would think that he’s never had a healthy relationship in his life. While it seemed a little odd to have song after song of danceable break-up music, I had to give the singer props for being honest about his (remarkably consistent) emotional state. Here’s a taste of his lyrical melancholy:

Home is where you make it
but I didn’t make it fast enough
You always talked about it
but I never thought you’d leave
Oh how dare you call it home
you made a mess of things
and now you’re on your way
like that’s the only solution
Pack up and go but
leave all your baggage behind

~ From: Just The Tip ~

For a band that nobody has ever heard of, they do have a nice little music video (geez, I sound SO condescending) for the appropriately titled ballad for the dumped: “Gone”.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Kind of fun for a break-up song, right? It’s appropriateness for my own life didn’t quite hit me until after being dumped myself, but I did have some fun dancing to song with my kids over the last few weeks.

Speaking of fun, that’s my other top band right now. Seriously, their name is Fun. Their website is www.ournameisfun.com. You may have actually heard of this group, what with their recent immortalization on Glee and all. But if you haven’t, please familiarize yourself and give them a listen.

Fun. is coming out with a new album in February, but they’ve already released a few tracks through YouTube. This track particularly rings true to me right now (other than the whole preoccupation with death thing).

Click here to view the embedded video.

I’ll put one foot, in front of the other one.
I don’t need a new love,
just a better place to die.

Yeah, it sounds dark and all, but not defeated. That’s the part that I really connect with. Keep walking, keep moving. It’s not time for something new, but something new will be found someday. I need to hear that. I need to believe that. And so I do.

Finally, a new sound in my playlist is from a band named Grouplove. This was a radio song that just happened to hit me in just the right place at just the right time. I’ve been wrestling with my self-esteem and manhood as of late, and the opening of this track traveled straight through my eardrums into my core-being.

I am a man, man, man, man
Up, up in the air
And I run around, round, round, round
this down town and act like I don’t care.
So when you see me flying by the planet’s moon,
You don’t need to explain if everything’s changed
Just know I’m just like you.

Just a few bars later, I get treated to this lovely bit of poetry:

And suddenly a light appears inside my brain
And I think of my ways,
I think of my days
and know that I have changed.

When I explain my divorce to people, they sympathize with me, but only to a certain extent. Really, to say that I have changed is an understatement of significant magnitude. The person that I am today is widely different from the one whom my wife fell in love with over a decade ago. Can I really blame my wife for anything? I’m the one who went from Christian minister to secular humanist. It’s on me. I get it. But it still hurts to let go…

The video for this song may be the most haunting that I’ve experienced in years.

Click here to view the embedded video.

His death sentence was seemingly stayed, only to be a delay of the inevitable. Wishful thinking leads him to a frolic in the fields and a late night in a tent (grouplove, indeed). But death came nonetheless.

Can I draw any conclusions from this?

Nope. It’s a music video. It’s somebody else’s story. It’s somebody else’s truth. It doesn’t have to me mine.

And so it isn’t.

Bonus:

Click here to view the embedded video.

I have no reason for liking this other than the fact that I always wanted to be a drummer and his skills are of the mad variety.

Long live music.

This is despite everything that I know about managing change and everything that I believe about the utility of failure.

As often happens, the various media content and ideas that I have been picking up on lately have been helping to give me a better idea of why I might have failed in this new approach to disciplining myself.

A friend of my from my undergraduate school is currently in college again to become a counselor. Being that we are both interested in psychology, he often shares interesting links and videos with me that he thinks I might get into.

He’s usually right.

One article he sent me was especially salient and thought provoking. I could hardly believe how well this author was able to translate some complex and difficult psychological research studies into coherent, clever, and captivating prose, filled with vivid metaphors and juicy pop-culture references. It was not exactly Malcolm Gladwell, but somehow still in that same vein. His schtick seems to be pointing out how we don’t really know ourselves as well as we think we do, and that we often prescribe intuitive solutions for ourselves that turn out to be counterproductive. (Ding, ding, ding! You now have my full attention.)

I clicked around on this guy’s site, more and more impressed with each article that I read. Then, I noticed a little image linking to the official trailer for his book. Yes, he created his own video trailer for the book that he is about to release. Although he has a unique way of pronouncing the word “want”, I found myself nodding along with his insights and theories on procrastination and motivation. Check it out:

Click here to view the embedded video.

So, I’ve got yet another book to add to my growing list, but I can’t see myself not reading this guy’s inaugural opus.

In addition to that site, I also happened upon an amazing slice of the internet known simply as PSYBLOG. Ok, it’s not exactly the greatest name ever, and it kind of sounds like you are saying “cyborg” if you try to pronounce it. However… IT IS FREAKING AWESOME!

Apparently, good ol’ TPOS found the sight recently as well. She seems have quite impeccable taste.

The first post that caught my eye was regarding the suggestion to keep one’s goals secret. The title? Why You Should Keep Your Goals Secret. Pretty straightforward, right?

While I didn’t really agree with the certainty that the author offered for the wisdom of not sharing one’s goals, I appreciated having to think about the risks of sharing goals with others. While this may have something to do with my failing to reach my “early to rise” goal, I feel like the opposite took place during Ramadan. Without telling everyone about it and blogging about it each day, I honestly don’t believe that I would have been able to complete it. I give a ton of credit to the others that I shared that experience with.

Maybe that’s the difference. Maybe I need to form an “Early Risers” religion.

Um….. well, maybe a club would have to suffice.

I also happened upon an article from Fast Company entitled: 5 Things To Do Every Day For Success. Guess what the no. 1 item on the list was?

Correct.

Be early to rise.

And guess what? A bunch of people argued with the author about it! It became an all-out war between night-owls and morning larks. The author even had to publish a follow-up article explaining what she really meant in the first article. All very interesting to me. I’m not sure where I fall in all of this.

Finally, I listened to an intriguing podcast while mowing the lawn a couple of weeks ago. I have two regular podcasts that I subscribe to: Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me, and Freakonomics. This particular Freakonomics podcast started out by saying:

You know the bromide: “a winner never quits, and a quitter never wins.”

To which Freakonomics Radio says … Are you sure? Sometimes quitting is strategic, and sometimes it can be your best possible plan.

I’m not much of an “always/never” kind of guy anyway, so my ears were finely attuned to the argument that followed. That and the fact that I had a lot of lawn left to mow.

I won’t rehash all of the points that were made, but I’ll admit that it left me with the feeling that we all quit a lot more than we realize, and it often leads to better opportunities in the future.

So while I didn’t think that I’d be giving up on my Father Abraham approach to discipline so soon, that’s exactly what I’m doing now.

I’ve got some ideas of what might work better, and I’ve already put some into practice. So far, it’s looking fairly promising. But maybe I should keep things like this to myself for a while.

Hmmmmm……

Just a random Abraham tombstone from the internet.

Click here to view the embedded video.

If you are a basketball fan, you may recognize that song from the pre-game introductions of your favorite team. I believe that it was begun by the Chicago Bulls, but I know that my Phoenix Suns used it back in the Charles Barkley days. My friend Matt still thinks of Alan Parsons every time that he reads or hears my full name. Good times.

When I first heard about TAPP, I was jazzed to think about this other “Parsons” that was out there. I wondered if/how we were related, and if I had some long-dormant musical ability that was given to all Parsons through genetics. After further review, I can conclude that that is not the case.

Still, this curiosity sent me on a search. I remember looking through my metro Phoenix phone book and flipping to the ‘P’s. I was stunned at the number of Parsons that were right there in my hometown. I wondered if I had unknowingly bumped into one of them at the AM/PM minimart, Golfland, Pizza Mart?Could it be that it was a Parsons that I had witnessed taking Sub-Zero all the way through to Shang Tsung at the nickel arcade?

My mind was swimming with all of the hypothetical things that Parsons could be doing out there.

Oddly, I took some comfort in the fact that there were no other “Zac Parsons”s listed in Phoenix. In fact, I concluded that I must be the only “Zac Parsons” in the world! Zac wasn’t a hugely popular name, and I definitely had never heard of anyone spelling it the same way that my parents had chosen to spell mine.

When I discovered that the bassist of the English band E.M.F. spelled his name “Zac”, I was actually pretty proud. Here was another musician with some part of my name. Again, if you can’t quite place E.M.F., let me offer this (with some help from THE Tom Jones:

Click here to view the embedded video.

I followed the band for a while, mostly because of the Unbelievable song, but also for Zac.

Sadly, Zac died unexpectedly in 2002 at the age of 31, which happens to be my age now. When I saw news of his death I was reminded again of the “unique” spelling of our name.

By this point, I was able to use this new technology known as “The Internet” to search for information about other Zacs. To my great surprise, there were a TON of us!

Today, we’ve got Zac Efron to remind the world that Zacs can be beautiful.

There’s also Zac Brown, who keeping the musical prowess (and beard-growing ability) of Zacs at an impressively high level.

Click here to view the embedded video.

There’s even a “Captain Zac“. It’s some guy who happens to be the first American to sail solo around the world.

You probably know where this is going now…

Despite my instance that I was definitely the only Zac Parsons in the world, I’ve learned that there are at least a half dozen “Zac Parsons”s in North America alone. In fact, one of them owned this domain before me.

So, as a service to anyone who pokes around here looking for another Zac Parsons, I’d like to start profiling different people with the name “Zac Parsons” who I run across. I’ll connect with them, and post as much as is appropriate here on the website.

If you happen to know a Zac Parsons, please have them email me at zac@zacparsons.com. I’m sure this won’t get confusing at all.

Let the Zac Parsons Project commence!

The REAL reason that kids like me got so jazzed about Father Abraham had everything to do with the accompanying actions associated with it. Curiously, the actions have no real connection to the song’s lyrics at all.

For example:

Father Abraham, had many sons.

Many sons had Father Abraham.

I am one of them.

And so are you.

So let’s all praise the Lord!

Right arm!

(Repeat from the beginning)

It’s pretty easy to follow along with until the “right arm” bit comes in. This line is designed to illustrate what we should be doing with our body whilst singing. My teachers always seemed to mime a train conductor with this move. Fist loosely clenched, it’s time to blow that horn.

After repeating the first section of the lyrics again, the “left arm” is appended to the end, with a simultaneous left-handed train conductor move to boot. If you ever worried about not appearing cool in social situations, songs like this tended to put everyone on equally goofy ground.

The song would continue, with your other appendages added in turn. Right leg, left leg, and nod your head.

And just when you think that you have nothing left to move in time with the beat (presumably provided by a tambourine or an egg shaker), the grand finale comes in, where you are to continue all of the motions, simultaneously, and… (wait for it)

…turn your entire body around! Neato, huh?

Apparently, the song is still getting some play in churches around the world. Check out this video with a robot leading the chorus for a bunch of kids:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Pretty life-like robot, right? But don’t be fooled. That perfectly shaped wedge haircut is a dead giveaway. Nice try, robots. Also, the lack of the train-conductor move is something that no human would allow. So there.

Never mind the fact that as kids, we didn’t understand how all of this was connected. The motions to this song kept building on each other, and we were all amazed that our brains and bodies could handle it all.

I’ve been trying add more of a structured process to my own life as of late, and I’m going to try the Father Abraham approach to do it.

I’m going to add a particular discipline to my life, get it habituated, and then add another along with it. I’ll likely be doing this until I am literally able to rock the Father Abraham motions in my sleep.

Seriously, I’m not sure that this will be an effective strategy, but I’m going to give it a go. I’ll keep blogging here about my progress, and highlight when I add a new discipline.

First up:

• Be early to rise.

During my Ramadan Fast, I remember one particular morning where I happened to be looking out my back window. It was just after dawn, and I had already begun the fast, but had not yet meditated for the day. Right under one of our oak trees, I saw a little bird, hopping along, pecking around all over the ground. While I didn’t immediately understand what was happening, I soon realized that I was actually witnessing an early bird trying to get the worm.

Sure enough, that little guy ended up with a plump little worm in his beak, and he flew off to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Without adding any more cheese to the already cheesy post, I’ll just say that I can see the value in being like that bird.

For the past couple of days, I have been the first to rise in my house. This gives me some quiet time to be still, get my lotus position on, and meditate.

The contents of my meditations have been a bit scattered, and I imagine that I’ll be more disciplined in this shortly.

But for now, I’m singing my song, and I’m pumping my right arm. Soon enough, I’ll be ready to add something new. See you then.

At the ceremony in NYC, there were hours and hours of processions to the lecterns by family members of those who fell on 9/11. Each name was read off, and the scope of the human toll just staggered me anew. Even though I didn’t know anyone associated with 9/11, the emotion of the ceremony today overwhelmed me.

In 2001, I hadn’t ever really lost any close friends, and death was much more of an abstract concept than the cold, harbinger of suffocating pain that I have come to know in the years following.

The men who hijacked and crashed the four planes on that date have sometimes been referred to as suicide bombers. This term does not set well with me, as I have come to associate suicide something quite different than trying to inflict the disease of death on others, while sacrificing one’s own life. While suicide absolutely devastates those closest to that human ground zero, it is not an act with a political message to send, or a desire to bring about change.

Just in the past couple of years, I have experienced the suicide of a friend from adolescence (even best friends at one point), the suicide of a former Christian worship music leader, and the suicide of a former co-worker.

In each of these people, we had fallen out of touch to a point where I would have never known if there was something that could have been done to prevent the circumstances leading up to those irretrievable moments. But that didn’t keep me from grieving those losses.

A significant portion of my life has been lived within some sort of second chance. Like Humpty Dumpty, I’ve had some great falls. But fortunately, I’ve had people around me with greater healing skills than the kings horses and men.

But death doesn’t give second chances. It’s finality is sobering. Depending on your religious views, you may believe in a rebirth somewhere, but the life that was formerly lived on this planet, in this time, is finished.

The survivor’s guilt can often be debilitating. There is a sense of “why him/her, and not me?” that can wrestle one’s mind into a full depression. This especially seems to be the case when the survivors question whether or not their own lives are being lived suitably.

I’m reminded of the end of the film, Saving Private Ryan.

Click here to view the embedded video.

While I sobbed through the 9/11 remembrances today, I was left with an unshakable feeling that I should be living a better life than the one that I am now. I owe it to all of those people who don’t have the chance to breathe in and breathe out anymore. And I can’t just let my life be lived.

A change is coming, and I don’t expect to be the same man that I am today.

Despite the pleading of so many, I don’t see any danger of 9/11 being forgotten. However, I refuse to simply remember those who are now gone. It’s up to us to honor them in the way that we live our lives.

I’m starting with me.

UPDATE: I was looking for this video from the ceremony in NYC today. It’s Paul Simon performing “The Sound of Silence”. I can’t shake it from my mind. I can’t recommend it more highly.

Click here to view the embedded video.

It’s been over a week since I wrapped up my fast for the month of Ramadan. Perhaps the sudden onset of autumn weather has something to do with it, but I’ve been regularly pondering the fact that I might be experiencing some post-Ramadan blues. I’m not waking up before dawn, I’m not meditating as much, and I’m not being especially mindful of anything.

Actually, that’s not really true. Lately, I’ve been quite mindful of my own negativity and sullenness. I wouldn’t argue a diagnosis of depression right now. It’s just been a difficult transition back to “normal” life. It turns out that “normal” is not good enough anymore.

This really shouldn’t surprise me, this whole process of changing my mindset towards not eating and drinking during sunlight hours occurred much as I would have expected it to, based on the TPI curriculum that I train others on. All of the early rising, meditating, abstaining, focusing, and learning really became habitualized in my life.

Once the goal of Ramadan was finished, I didn’t replace it with a new one.

I knew that I was really enjoying and appreciating the fast, but I didn’t realize how potently I had been affected by it all. While the past week or so hasn’t been a complete bust, let’s just say that I’ve spent more time that I would like to admit in full sweats, with my hoodie firmly in the “on” position. It’s the uniform of the mildly depressed, and I’ve been wearing it at home quite a bit this week.

My wife and I were discussing my fast recently, and we agreed that it was the most dedicated that I have ever been to a daily discipline in my entire life. At 31 years old, with 3 kids, that’s sort of embarrassing.

Discipline has always been a sort of four-letter word for me. Dictionary.com assures me that there are indeed more than four letters, and provides the following definitions, to boot:

2) To bring to a state of order and obedience by training and control.

Typically, I associate discipline with the 3rd definition. It has a strong correlation with punishment and penalty for me. At various points in my life, I have tried to shed any and all disciplines, due to a fear that they were preventing me from being truly “free”.

Some of this perspective towards discipline was from my own experience, while a great deal of it was from watching others languish and suffer for the sake of some sort of discipline. It all seemed very foolish to me; to enslave yourself to something, without any options for changing or casting it aside once it was no longer useful.

I’m now rethinking and reexamining all of this. During my fast, my commitment to not drinking is what gave me the strength to overcome my urges to drink each day. This commitment did not weaken me or reduce my “freedom”. It simply reminded me of what I had already decided what was most valuable.

In the days since the fast ended, I’ve just been allowing myself to be driven by my base cravings and desires. I’m pretty sure that the discipline of these desires is what separates us from the animal kingdom, so why is it so difficult for me to put a new discipline into place?

Well, I’m trying to find an answer to that. I’ve got some ideas in my head for developing a new process for adding disciplines to my life. As they become habits, I’ll need to include a way to examine all of them as well, but I’ll just focus on disciplines for now.

More on all of this later. Thanks for reading.

In the meantime, I’ll be continue to jam to this weird-ass video from some dude named Nathan Barnatt:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Seriously. If the end of the discipline of fasting has brought me down, that video has buoyed me as much as anything else over the past week (especially the reverse low 10 at the 3:17 mark). I hope that it makes you happy too.

What a way to break a fast, huh?

Actually, one of my new Muslim friends from the U.K. placed this lovely picture in my mind earlier today, and I managed to bring it into reality at sunset. In what may not come as much of a surprise, it tasted much better in my mind than in real life.

Even though I know that less than 10% of you watched the videos from yesterday, I wanted to share another one with you today.

No, sadly it’s not footage of me devouring the aforementioned cheeseburger.

Keeping with the theme of the last couple of days with my articles and some really insightful comments from readers, I wanted to share the Jon Stewart clip that I alluded to way back on Day 2 of this fast. It’s all about the Norway massacre and how some media members have been utterly indignant about any association with Christianity, either mainstream or fringe.

It’s safe for work, and I only show it here because I can’t illustrate in words what these clips illustrate themselves. Please, give it a go. It’s only 5 minutes long.

Ah Kinko’s…. that’s some funny stuff right there.

I don’t want to rant and rail about the double standard illustrated here. I just appreciate the matter of fact way in which Stewart approaches this.

Are we dealing with apples and oranges here? I don’t expect the media to treat Christianity and Islam the same way any time soon, but I value being aware of scotomas (blind spots). Am I way off base here?

Is it possible that Islam has gotten an unfair shake from the media in America over the last decade?

Again, if you are reading this as a Christian (or really any sort of non-Mulsim), and your only experience with Islam is through your computer screen and television set, please enlighten yourself by becoming friends with a Muslim. Or 5. Or 10.

If you have no idea about how to do that, leave a comment here and we can figure it out together.