I Infiltrate the Emo Kids Pt. 1

Last Wednesday I went along to a Denver concert featuring 30 Seconds to Mars, the favorite band of my good friend, Saskia. For those who are unfamiliar, "30STM" is helmed by an actor, Jared Leto. I was skeptical upon the first listen of their recent album, anticipating music on par with other celebrity bands like Keanu Reeves' BFS Dogstar and Russell Crowe's 30 Odd Foot of Grunts. Imagine my surprise to find that they weren't bad, and in fact, quite good if you like dramatic rock with a noticeable European industrial influence.

So I was looking forward to the show, a thought that was complicated for a few days after Saskia elicited an critical detail.

"By the way," she said, "it's going to be a Blood Ball."

"...and what's that?" I asked.

She replied that it was a 30STM tradition in which the attendees don white formal wear and proceed to cover themselves in fake blood. Those absentminded enough to forget their fake blood can pay a street team member to hose them down with it in a "Blood Booth".

I thought I'd roll with it. And really, that concept didn't repel me as much as the list of opening bands. More on that below.

Anyway, my friend channeled her enthusiasm into a certain dress she'd wear to this "Ball". At a costume shop she found a white lacey wenchy dress that she altered and customized for six hours on a sewing machine. She then threw on combat boots and fishnets to complete an ensemble that ended up catching special attention from the band.

Not to be outdone, I pulled together an emo disguise that was likewise flawless. I combed my bangs down flat and put on my black-framed glasses. Then I wore a white shirt and black tie, gray slacks, and white sneakers. And I'm skinny. Emo incognito.

When we'd reached the Fillmore Auditorium in Denver, Saskia and I shared a pang of terror when we didn't immediately spot any blood-covered emo kids in suits or dresses. Relief came when a couple punks strolled out of a nearby Wendy's wearing red neckties and black everything else.

My friend and I checked out the line. Half of it was comprised of teenage girls simply gothed out in black and wondering what the hell was wrong with the freaks on the other half. Being hungry, my friend and I held off on standing in line and went to do something about it.

At the aforementioned Wendy's, we chanced upon a couple chaps who were members of 30STM's street team, "Echelon". The both of them, the scrawny fella and the stocky one with a pompadour, seemed to have ditched school to come down here from Wyoming. In a magnanimous gesture, they offered to let us in the line with them and the rest of their group -- a half-dozen people from the very front of the line.

Once embedded, I was mostly reticent among the other 30STM fans. I had no idea what the kooky symbols meant, what any lyrics were from, or which episode of My So Called Life was Jared's best, and I wasn't going to hazard any guesses. Aside from the 25-degree cold, it was a pleasant experience with emo kids courteously swapping tubes of fake blood to liberally apply around the eyes, ears, hands, and neck.

Once inside, we were submitted to a battery of increasingly horrible openers, and most of the crowd would visibly share my sentiment about them. Saskia was distressed by the idea that her Jared Leto would inflict such bands on us. Assuming he was somehow responsible, I had two explanations.

A. While on a bender, 30 Seconds to Mars bought a set of refrigerator poetry magnets, and they flung the pile onto a fridge. Then they put on blindfolds and began mixing the words around in random clumps. The drummer, Shannon Leto, would then point to a clump and ask if it was a band name. That afternoon they called up Rock Kills Kid, Cobra Starship, and On the Receiving End of Sirens.

(Head Automatica came later when they mixed in the Latin set.)

B. It was a test. “How much do you love us?” asked 30STM, and the answer some gave was, “not enough.” I say this because a no-crowd-surfing rule was in effect, making the act punishable by ejection. And more emo kids rode to the front between sets — when no one was playing music – than any other time.

But many stayed. Once the openers had finished, Jared Leto could then emerge to a crowd that loved him more than they loved themselves, and that’s a situation that a powerful figure must always know how to create.

Here's a breakdown of the undercard:

Rock Kills Kid – The best of the worst. Generic 80’s synth rock, but agreeable. I grew to appreciate them as the night wore on. Initially, I was overexcited about their act because I heard someone mistakenly refer to them as Kill Kid Rock.

Cobra Starship – This is a band whose claim to fame is the Snakes on a Plane song.

I could move on from there, but one more thing: I hate it when a band’s hot chick also plays the band’s most obnoxious instrument. When she’s assaulting everyone with a keyboard guitar, my penis does not know what to do.

The Receiving End of Sirens – Not even the name prepares you to comprehend how powerfully dull this act is. Their songs, like an empty tackle box, had no hooks. Instead, they used their three guitars to put up a flat wall of noise behind which the two singers would alternately wailed out unintelligibly nasal lyrics. I spotted many other attendees texting friends throughout the set, perhaps concerning the temperature and Real World Denver.

Head Automatica – Somebody put a bug-eyed monkey in a suit and told him to grab the keyboardist's ass and sing through his schnozz. During this set, people around me took the time to compliment me on the fake blood I had around my ears and my eyes. I told them it was no longer fake.

Throughout all this, I was surprised that the emo kids shared my grimaces of pain and impulses to throw garbage. I thought this was the stuff they liked.

After an obscure, Stomp-like punk trio put on a short act, gyrating their hips and beating on some buckets and trash cans, out came 30 Seconds to Mars in blood-covered tuxes...

The Champion

Liberal Democrat Jay Fawcett has conceded the election!

Doug Lamborn -- who bears the title of True Conservative -- is now one of Colorado's representatives on Capitol Hill. O, that there e'er was doubt in the outcome!

Scribes are already composing songs and sonnets of True Conservative's magnificent victory, and tankards are overflowing in the Republican mead hall, also known as Mr. Biggs Family Fun Center. The uproarious bellows of True Conservative's thanes shook the walls as He declared his ambition to sit upon the House Arms Committee. What more fitting assignment for such a seasoned warrior as this man!

Despite his disgrace in defeat, Fawcett has not ruled out the possibility of running again. Must this vexing imp needs be smote once more, True Conservative shall remain on his guard, thunderbolts rumbling in his grip.

The reliable people of Colorado Springs and surrounding hamlets have wrought justice unto themselves by maintaining faith in this Hero. "Send Him!" cried they, "for it is he who embodies our causes and moral standards!"

For these constituents, keep on, True Conservative! On thy glory march to Capitol Hill, thou may arrive to another House slithering with Democrats, but fear not! Lift thine eyes to the sunrise always, and repeat the war cries of thy kindred: Stay the Course, and Git-R-Done!

Aftermath

The morning New Life Church services were televised today, and I watched them. I can say that I was mostly impressed with the proceedings, as the New Life pastors told their congregation what they needed to hear.

“Forgiveness defines us,” [Interim pastor] Parsley said. “I believe in the divine destiny of New Life Church...We have been a place where broken people can get healed.”

“It is OK to be angry. It is OK to grieve. It is OK to be sad.”

In terms of compassion, this church is putting its money where its mouth is. They're right when they say that this is the opportunity to show the world that they can forgive someone who has betrayed them beyond comprehension. This is what they kept referring to as their "test".

Haggard didn't make a personal appearance at the service, and he had one of the church overseers read his apology letter, which can be found here in its entirety. Among the most striking and important pleas he makes of his Christians is this:

Please forgive my accuser. He is revealing the deception and sensuality that was in my life. Those sins, and others, need to be dealt with harshly. So, forgive him and, actually, thank God for him. I am trusting that his action will make me, my wife and family, and ultimately all of you, stronger. He didn't violate you; I did.

He realizes that Mike Jones, risking ridicule and jail time himself, came out and told the world what he was. Haggard didn't. Also, it bears repeating that Pastor Ted's not passing the buck. And if there's one respectable quality about his apology, it's that he is holding himself 100% accountable for his sins... whatever they may be.

But the apology's vagueness makes no mention of the felonies of soliciting a prostitute or buying methamphetamine. Haggard's most specific description of his transgressions only emerges when he admits he is "guilty of sexual immorality."

So this is what worries me most: the grieving New Lifers will harbor more anger for the homosexuality aspect of the trysts than for the actual crimes Haggard committed in the process. In fact, this whole scandal will only reinforce their perspectives that homosexuality is damaging to society. It was damaging to the New Life society, wasn't it? They lost a leader and a teacher, it would seem, because of it.

But here's the reality. In the letter, Pastor Ted admits that he'd been having these thoughts for years and years -- before he became New Life's leader, before he had children, before he married. That's why it worries me that Christians will believe that homosexuality destroyed Ted Haggard's life, and not that he willingly built a life around his homosexuality that could only be destroyed.

Many, many people credit Ted Haggard for what they say are positive changes in their lives. I hope these same people can remember that it was perhaps a gay man who counseled them the whole time.

Pastor Ted

Holy. Shit.

I know many evangelicals across the country are feeling the hurt from this male prostitute scandal, but imagine what it's like here. It's literally hitting home for so many Christians I know, because this the guy they go to see at New Life every Sunday, amidst the laser light show and motorcycle stunts and whatever the hell else they're doing in there.

But today New Life's had enough -- they let Ted go. And this spectacle of hypocrisy has yet to play itself out to the last lewd detail. I think this investigation, which has apparently been going on for months, has a long way to go, but here's what we know so far.

Pastor Ted lied about never having met the prostitute, Mike Jones ("MIKE JONES!" ... sorry). It's also proven that Ted Haggard purchased meth, so naturally he now... admits to purchasing meth. And getting a good rub down.

And let me tell you, if you're gonna go to Denver and get a massage from anyone, the locals customarily suggest that you scan the gay magazines and pick yourself out a handsome advertised escort like Mr. Mike Jones. Ted knows that those are the massage therapists of choice, and a leader of an evangelical megachurch especially should not bother with the mediocrity of, say, a certified female masseuse. Pastor Ted did what anyone would do, plain and simple.

As for the drugs, he claims he never took them. Which smacks of the time Clinton had marijuana right there in front of him, yet he "did not inhale." See, these men edge toward the cliff of temptation, only to backflip away at the moment of truth, and really, that's what makes them better than us. But then hearken back to Ted's message to Mr. Jones:

“Hey, I was just calling to see if we could get any more. Either $100 or $200 supply.”

"More"? That's right, Pastor Ted must have thrown away the previous supply, which simply wasn't empowering enough. The man just needed to do it again.

But what are we talking about here? It's meth! A drug that lacks the glamour of heroin, the cool-factor of cocaine, and the innocence of oxycontin! Any of these would be easier to shrug off publicly, but the juiciest thing is that Pastor Ted was perhaps getting his fix off something that ranks just one notch above spray paint in a paper bag.

Many of Ted's followers are committedly standing by him through this investigation, which is simultaneously inspiring and disturbing. On one hand, it's nice to see that certain evangelicals are maybe practicing what they preach in terms of forgiveness. Some New Lifers are even considering the scandal to be a test of faith in their charismatic leader. Still, it remains to be seen how much nasty business will come to light, and therefore how demanding a "test" this will be for them.

I'm really shooting from the hip as I write all this, but one last thought for now:

Last Sunday, with a little more than a week until Election Day, Ted prayed that "all lies would be exposed." In light of recent events, I really should have had more faith in his ability to draw a swift, accurate response from God.

True Conservative's Hour of Reckoning

With Election Day drawing nigh, the importance placed on each congressional race can hardly be exaggerrated. In my area, the most apocalyptic battle is waged between Ret. Lt. Col. Jay Fawcett and Doug Lamborn, otherwise known as True Conservative.

Lamborn bested five other "conservatives"in the Republican primaries to earn such a prestigious title. Not since the early 1970s has a True Conservative faced the threat of losing this district in which I live, but this autumn has brought notable challenges to He who would become one of Colorado's new congressmen.

Primarily, it perturbs some Republicans in CD5 that the Former True Conservative -- and representative in a legendary 20-year term -- Joel Hefley, has not endorsed Lamborn. Lamborn, it should be recalled, had vanquished Hefley's heir apparent, Jeff Crank, in the primaries. Many voters were awed by the fell storm of negative ads that Lamborn rained upon Crank, many of those thunderclaps ringing with "pro-gay radical" allegations. Crank's base of supporters at Focus on the Family were especially confounded.

Joel Hefley was clearly dismayed that the protege he originally groomed to become True Conservative was unworthy of the title, as Colorado voters decreed, and Hefley is only withholding his endorsement from Lamborn because he is a bitter, decrepit old man who saw his foolish legacy puffed to a twinkling dustcloud.

(Neither would Hefley lend blessings to Lamborn's adversary, Jay Fawcett, for it is not done. It is not the way.)

Lamborn's path to victory began with his run for Colorado state senate, where he demonstrated his political fearlessness in a victorious 1998 campaign. One winning tactic was heralded in the Denver Post:

In May 1998, Lamborn ran against Tom Ratterree for the state Senate. Ratterree claimed in a story printed in The (Colorado Springs) Gazette that he had received copies of a letter circulated by Lamborn supporters suggesting Ratterree, who opposed euthanasia, took his wife off of life support.

His wife died of cancer in 1991 and had requested that she not be connected to life-support machinery.

Ratterree dropped out of the race, telling a Gazette reporter: "... the lack of Christian attitude by some people in the community, I don't need that."

Ratterree died in 2005.

Huzzah! Who could not have foreseen the makings of a champion during Lamborn's promising run for state senate? Such breathtaking strategy would indubitably come from he who is destined to become True Conservative. The frail cannot survive in Colorado politics, and Lamborn remains, as he always has, on two righteous legs.

Woe betide Democrat Jay Fawcett and his childish ambitions of representing Congressional District 5 in True Conservative's stead! Though he has not yet been beheaded in the town square, as I have foretold, he is falling behind in the polls within a week of Election Day. Backed into a corner, Fawcett called out True Conservative for a live radio debate that was later chronicled in the Springs Gazette. Among the Democrat's barbs:

“My opponent hides behind his fear, hate and false piety,” Fawcett said later in his closing statement. “He’s a liar and he has no plan on what to do in Washington.”

These tired accusations could barely faze True Conservative, for then in his everlasting poise, He riposted by calling Fawcett a liberal. A dire blow! The Democratic candidate was perhaps caught wholly off guard by this allegation. But still stood the stubborn bull -- how many swords must True Conservative plunge into Fawcett's hide before He can finally put the slouching beast to earth?

But as it is in battle, the more resistant the foe, the more glory won at his demise. For this reason, perhaps Lamborn would relish his victory all the more, provided that -- this time -- he is not too overcome by drink and merriment to make a coherent speech to his grateful and wise constituents.