Farewell, Lincoln.

I moved to Lincoln in 2008 for college. Somehow, six years have passed since then.

Residents of bigger cities love to brag about their extraordinary places -- the museums, performance halls, architectural masterpieces, and culinary institutions that are known around the world. And extraordinary places are certainly a wonderful thing to have, especially when out-of-town visitors come calling. We all like a little helping of bragging rights.

But after the novelty of extraordinary things wears off, the vast majority of our time is spent in ordinary places. Places like coffee shops, 9-bucks-a-plate restaurants, grocery stores, and neighborhood sidewalks.

Lincoln has a modest handful of extraordinary places. The Capitol Building, most notably. Memorial Stadium, if you’re a native Nebraskan. But Lincoln will likely never have a truckload of things that knock your socks off at first glance. It’s just not that kind of place, and no amount of shiny arenas will change that.

What Lincoln does have is a wonderful richness of ordinary places.

After six years in Lincoln, I’ll miss being able to take a rambling walk to Cultiva on a Fall day, or stopping by Open Harvest to pick up a walnut scone. I’ll miss afternoons spent wandering through the Vietnamese markets on 27th street, searching for a missing ingredient. I’ll miss the chubby koi fish in the Sunken Gardens, and sweltering summer picnics in Pioneers Park. I’ll miss the sheer weirdness of walking through the Near South, with its turn-of-the-century mansions, mid-century apartment monstrosities, and elusive, fluffy cats lurking on furniture-cluttered stoops.

If you’re planning your summer vacation, I can’t say I’d recommend Lincoln. When you've only got a week, you might as well go somewhere big. Somewhere extraordinary.

But if you've got six years to spend somewhere, you could do a lot worse.

Vinyl, Cities, And Why Smart People Are Often Wrong.

A few weeks ago, I was at an educational technology conference, listening to a presentation on the evolution of consumer tech. The speaker used props extensively, showing off relics like 5” floppy disks, and 8-track tapes.

At one point, she held up an LP, and firmly stated, “if you’re under 30, you have no idea what this is.”

Of course, if you’re someone under 30, you know this is crazy talk. While vinyl records aren’t the mass medium they once were, they’ve become extremely popular with a large crowd of young, mostly well-educated people who enjoy the sound of analog music. In many cases, young people are dusting off their parents’ unused record heaps, and giving them a second life.

This may turn out to be a fad. At the very least, it doesn’t mean that digital music is declining, or that the traditional record industry will suddenly be the titan it was in the ‘70s. But it’s an interesting phenomenon nonetheless.

It’s interesting because there’s not really a quantifiable reason for the resurgence of vinyl. Massive, physical records are no practical match for the millions of songs Spotify can magically stream to your laptop. The fact that the revival of a seemingly-ancient format has occurred in tandem with the continued growth of digital music is a delightful paradox that cuts against the linear march O’ technology narrative the speaker was trying to present.

And it’s a testament to the power of the intangible.

We live in an age of data, enthralled by technocrats who can gaze into the future through massive sets of numbers. We’re meant to believe that anything significant about human behavior can be reduced to spreadsheets assembled by economists and statisticians.

One of the most immediate consequences of this laser-focus on data is a continuity bias.The purpose of most data analysis is to identify patterns, like historical trends and correlations between data sets. So, when we discover these little gems, we can only rationally assume that these patterns will hold. And, viola! We have a little portal to the future --  and for writers, a harvest of click-ready headlines:

The End Of _____ !

The Future Of _____ !

The New ______ !

Why What You Think About _______ Is Wrong!

The Upcoming ______ Disaster!

For a while, these predictions seem correct. But then, shifts take place. And the roots of these shifts can usually be found in different realms: the realms of preference, belief, and other mental constructs that can defy numerical analysis.

Take the state of the American city: 40 years ago, any number of experts in the field of urban policy would tell you that the American city was dead. The suburbs were rapidly growing, inner-cities were zones of hopelessness, and the streets of downtown areas were empty. Rationally, this made sense. People wanted space, privacy, and personal mobility. The suburbs offered all those things, and the old city cores didn’t. Their death was a necessary, but inevitable, tragedy.

Today, things have changed. The suburbs are still large, and in some places, still growing. But dense urban cores have replaced suburban areas as the center of the elite class's aspirations. Neighborhoods in and close to downtown areas have experienced massive influxes of wealthy, mostly white, residents. The very people who were expected to continue to seek out more space in the leafy-green sprawl around the edges.

The changes that made this possible were changes in the ideals of the affluent generation that had been raised in the space, homogeneity, and safety of the suburbs. The qualities that had such a great pull on their parents and grandparents no longer held the same appeal for them. New qualities -- authenticity, walkability, excitement -- became their touchstones.

Urban economists can point to an increasing amount of data that shows that density is correlated with a number of positive goods, like the amount of economic innovation, but the fact that these benefits exist is besides the point. The educated people who make up the burgeoning urban class aren’t moving downtown because of metrics that show that patent applications increase based on the amount of people per square mile. They’re searching for a “vibe,” or a “community,” or maybe just some really good coffee.

Numbers are useful, but, they have their limits. There’s a lot that numbers can tell us about a place, a group of people, or a certain trend. But all these things are made of more than just measurable metrics.

Another case in point: every year, certain magazines compile lists of the “best” places/towns/cities, which provide another form of headline fodder for over-worked journalists. Interestingly enough, the places that fill the top of these lists are almost never the cities where millions of people actually choose to move. Inevitably, it’s a string of relatively obscure burgs that look fantastic on paper.

The small Nebraskan city I live in, Lincoln, was recently rated the happiest city in America. Now, I can attest to the fact that Lincoln is a pleasant place. And yet, there aren’t millions of people rushing to the Great Plains to experience the marvelous happiness therein.

In the real world, the places tourists flock to, and ambitious youngsters leave their hometowns for, are often pretty poor based on a number of metrics. Things like unemployment rates, and commute times are an important part of the urban puzzle, but so are things like the “feel” of a street, the “energy” a business community, or the way the sunset looks in a certain park. If you ask a newly-minted New Yorker about why he chose to live there, he probably won’t tell you that he ditched everyone he knew and decided to share a studio apartment with five strangers because Once Prestigious Magazine told him it was #45.5 on a list of places for recent college graduates.

Ultimately, the problem isn’t with the data itself. The trouble lies in the conceit that numbers can provide us with an objective and complete view of the world, detached from interpretation and human experiences. In truth, the widespread availability of data about our lives has provided us with incredible tools. But the usefulness of any tool depends on the hands that wield it.

So, go ahead: use numbers. If you must, make predictions, and lists. Numbers are interesting, and can tell you a lot. But at the same time, be human. Listen to people, and search for the interesting cultural events that happen around the edges, where others aren’t looking. And maybe, when reality capsizes the conventional wisdom, you won’t be so surprised.

Downtown!

The tale of downtown revitalization has been a big one for the past couple of decades. Urban cores across America that had declined into post-apocalyptic chaos during the '60s and '70s have reinvented themselves as havens for the hipster swarm, called forth by their insidious overmind. Goodbye hobos, hello adorable lattes. And some new numbers from the Census Bureau seem to add weight to this trend:

Via Nate Berg at Atlantic Cities: Big city downtowns are becoming people places – again or, for some, for the first time. New figures [PDF] out from the U.S. Census Bureau show that downtown areas saw huge jumps in population between 2000 and 2010. The biggest of these metro areas, those with populations of 5 million or more, saw a collective growth rate of more than 13 percent in the areas within two miles of city hall, a stand-in measurement that, for these purposes, designates "downtown."

In all U.S. metro areas, 16.1 million people were living within two miles of City Hall by 2010, about six percent of the total metro area population of 258 million.

Combined with the populations slightly farther out, in the two to four mile radius outside city hall, the numbers increase dramatically. Together, the total metro population living within four miles of city hall is more than 54 million – almost 21 percent of America's metro population. That's 17.5 percent of the national population living within a quick car ride, 30-minute bike ride or hour-long walk of the center of a big city.
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The report also shows that areas farther from city halls are still dominant population centers. And that's especially true in the largest metropolitan areas. While the close-in areas in these metros' downtown saw double-digit growth between 2000 and 2010, so did areas 30 miles and beyond. So while it's true that people are moving into downtowns, that doesn't mean they're still not moving out to the suburbs and exurbs as well.

As the commentator noted, the real story of downtown America isn't the death of suburbia, which is alive and well. It's likely that American cities will never become the dense, centralized places they were in the past. In most cases, downtown is simply becoming one thriving neighborhood among many, and an attractive regional destination. The end result is more choice for middle-class consumers and home owners/renters, which is generally a good thing.

On the other hand, the trends that are revitalizing downtown areas in big cities don't seem to be doing anything for the decaying inner-ring neighborhoods of mid-sized cities that were hit hardest by the changes in America's economic landscape. Pockets of persistent poverty and inequality remain the biggest challenges facing American cities. And no, these problems won't be solved by artisanal cupcake shops.

The DangerRuss Files, Installment 1

If you live in Lincoln’s Near South neighborhood, there’s only one acceptable place to buy your groceries: the Russ’s Market at 17th and Washington. Also known as “Ghetto Russ’s” or “DangerRuss’s,” this 24-hour wonderland combines a wide selection of food products with the thrill of possibly being the site of a terrible, terrible crime. Yes, the bearded residents of the tent city located in the juice aisle will demand a toll for safe passage, but it’s a small price to pay. And if you happen to have a young goat on hand, they’ll offer you a lifetime of protection. It’s a decision you won’t regret.

Within the confines of this particular Russ’s, the curious visitor will find a glorious inner sanctum: the dollar section. Things in the dollar section cost a dollar, which is a small amount of money to pay for a thing. The dollar section is stocked with products that exist outside the bounds of time and space. In all likelihood, you have never heard of them. You have never seen them. You have never tasted them.

But I will. Because they cost a dollar, and I need something to write about.

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Dollar Item #1: Daddy Ray’s Blueberry Cereal Bars

I have a soft spot for Kellogg’s Nutri-Grain Bars. Although it may be a completely fabricated memory, I’m pretty sure I ate them on several childhood road trips. In any case, blueberry Nutri-Grain Bars always conjure up the feeling of driving through rural Pennsylvania at dawn. So, I was super excited to try a $1.00 alternative: Daddy Ray’s Blueberry Cereal Bars. Would their flavor transport me to rural Pennsylvania, or a cigarette-butt-littered shoulder of the New Jersey turnpike?

Packaging:

The use of beveled text is a nice touch, recalling the graphic design stylings of your mother, circa 1997. However, the highlight of the package is Daddy Ray himself.


Daddy Ray appears to be of strong Amish stock, with an appropriately stache-less beard and fedora combo. Daddy Ray’s beaming countenance provides the shopper with a sense of serenity, perhaps representing the elusive approval of his or her own father. It’s okay to buy these “naturally and artificially flavored” cereal bars. Daddy Ray thoroughly approves.

FlavorTaste:

These little guys didn’t disappoint. At first, I was a tad hesitant about their texture. Compared to their Nutri-Grain cousins, their outer-layer was dry and crumbly, rather than chewy and tender. But instead of giving the impression that they were stale, the crumbly outer layer seemed fresh and biscuit-like. Their filling was the perfect counterpoint to the hearty cereal exterior -- bursting with blueberry flavor, and just the right amount of sweetness. Each individual bar is on the small side, so I immediately ate two. There are only six bars in a box. In theory, it would be easy to scarf down all of them in one sitting. I can neither confirm nor deny that this definitely happened.

Final Score:

3.5 / 5 Narwhals

All The Ugly People

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For the sake of your name, LORD, forgive my iniquity, though it is great.

Psalm 25:11

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I don’t like ugly people.

I’m not trying to be senselessly provocative, and I’m certainly not making a moral statement. But it is a true statement.

If you live in a normal, American, middle-class neighborhood, with normal, American, middle-class neighbors, you may not know any ugly people. What’s more, the magic of suburbia is such that it’s likely that you never have to encounter ugly people in your day-to-day life. Except, perhaps, at Wal-Mart.

In a poor, high-density neighborhood, you don’t get that luxury. Where I live, a lot of people are impoverished. Many of them are ugly. They wear ugly clothing. They have terrible hygiene. They speak with slurred, ugly voices. They didn’t finish college, or high school. They aren’t the kind of people I want to be friends with, or spend time on.

Sometimes, they ask for help. Or money. I don’t give it to them. They’ll probably just buy drugs anyway, right?

The doctrine that all men are image-bearers of Christ can be repeated to the point of cliché. I know it by heart. But even so, my heart doesn’t really know it. When I walk past a vagrant, I’m much more likely to think white trash than eternal, glorious reflection of the Creator.

In the evangelical world, it’s popular to focus on big-ticket sins you can write books on conquering. Addictions like pornography and alcohol. Social problems like marital unfaithfulness and divorce. But beneath the surface of my life, I know there’s a world of deep, rooted sin that I can’t even begin to comprehend. There’s so much pride and hatred stored up that I could spend a lifetime fighting it, and never achieve victory.

Wishing that someone would cease to exist is the highest level of hatred I can think of. But as I avoid eye-contact with the undesirables smoking on the porch of my apartment building while littering the yard with Corona cans, this unspoken wish passes through my mind. When I take an honest look at my heart, I see more Hitler than Jesus.

Even when my mind tries to mask the hate in nice little thoughts.

Wouldn’t it be nice if this neighborhood were a little more... gentrified?
Full of quirky young people who listen to Grizzly Bear and repair bikes?
What if that charming Victorian could be restored to a single-family home, with a responsible, middle-class family inside?
Perhaps there wouldn’t be so many of THOSE people here...

Maybe that’s one of the reasons I don’t like ugly people. My heart’s reaction to them reveals my true self. It shows that despite the fact that I’ve gone to church every Sunday since I was born, I’m more inclined to hatred than love. I’d rather lock myself inside and read a book about God’s grace than show grace to anyone who doesn’t reach my standard of personhood.

It turns out that I’m ugly too. Fortunately, there’s someone else who doesn’t just like ugly people, but loves them. And better yet, forgives them.

'Murican Cuisine And Other Things

I had a Taco Bell chalupa for lunch today. And it was beautiful.

Yes, I know I risk becoming someone who just writes ridiculous stuff about food.  But please, let me explain:

America's vast excesses are usually mocked. The sprawling suburbs. The ubiquitous Wal-Marts. The fried Twinkies. People tell us that Americans are destroying the world with our uncultured culture of unsustainable consumption. 

Maybe that's true.

But in all of America's absurdities, there's a terrifying beauty.

Take the chalupa, for example.

In Mexico, there is something called a chalupa. The Taco Bell chalupa is not that thing. The Taco Bell chalupa is a deep fried taco drenched in some kind of fatty sauce. But, of course, none of the tacos served at Taco Bell -- including the chalupa -- resemble a Mexican taco. The chalupa is an advanced food product scientifically developed in a corporate laboratory to appeal to your body's survival mechanisms. Nothing about it is natural. Which makes it amazing.

It's fattening. It's salty. It's a freaking chalupa. Your primal nature craves it.

On one hand, things like the chalupa will probably kill us all. But on the other hand, it's a miracle of the capitalist system.

It's an easy target for derision, but the sheer scale and ingenuity of the consumption-driving society we've built is jaw-dropping. Viewed as a panorama, the endless tracts of identical homes in our suburbs can be as arresting as the pyramids. Our big-box stores sell an array of goods unparallelled at any other point in history. And our titans of fast food produce tiny miracles like the chalupa every day.

The Titanic may inevitably sink. But until then, it's a pretty impressive boat.

On Urban Missional Cultural Relevance.

According to conventional wisdom, the American city is back. And the American church seems to have gotten the message. If you’re young, ambitious, and entering the ministry, planting an urban church is the thing to do.

Even if your congregation is actually made up of middle-class suburbanites.

(Google “City Church,” and you’ll find a multitude of churches -- many of them located in gritty metropolises like Anchorage and Chatanooga).

The trend toward bringing the gospel to previously un-churched and culturally influential urban areas is exciting, and necessary. I would argue that this movement is one of the most important developments in modern Christianity. However, it’s important to draw the line between truly serving a city, and attempting to capitalize on the image of urban hipsterdom. Buzzwords like “cultural relevance” can mask a real cultural disconnect with the local community.

The vast majority of Christians in middle-America aren’t that artistic. They aren’t overly concerned with refuting the deconstructionist philosophy of Jacques Derrida. They don’t all enjoy sitting through Swedish art films from the ‘60s. And like it or not, they need pastors too.

This isn’t a screed against hipsters, or so-called “hipster Christianity.” Many of the people that get branded as hipsters aren’t trying to put on a phony identity. Some people (including Christians) have a passion for art, listen to obscure bands because they genuinely enjoy them, and wear retro glasses because they have bad eyesight, and thought they just looked good, dangit! That’s okay. But it isn’t a sin to wear dad shorts and listen to Casting Crowns. The chronically un-hip aren’t second-class citizens in the kingdom of God.

The return of Christian interest in urban ministry is an incredible development. A few decades ago, few would have believed that New York City and Seattle would become vibrant centers of evangelical Christianity. But the church is made up of Christians. It should exist wherever Christians are, and reflect where they live. A church on Manhattan island won’t be the same as a church in Manhattan, Kansas.

If being “relevant” in your community means discussing grad-school level literature and cinema, more power to you. If you’ve been called to serve in a true cultural center, you should take that mission to heart. There’s no doubt that the church has a long way to go in ministering to America’s great cities. But if “authenticity” is going to be more than a buzzword, church leaders need to truly take into account the needs and identity of the specific community they’ve been called into.

Even if that community thinks Bud Light is a legitimate beverage choice.