Julia M. OBrien

This week, 60 Minutes ran a piece on firms that represent delebs:  dead celebrities.  Turns out there's a big business in merchandising Elvis, James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, and the most recognizable face of our time, Albert Einstein.

Was Joe Wilson racist when he shouted “you lie!” to President Obama?  Are supporters of Obama too quick to dismiss honest criticism of the President’s policies as knee-jerk racism?

I've never thought of Jesus as meek and mild, but I also never imagined Jesus the way I saw him depicted on a billboard in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, a few years ago.

My daughter turns 21 today. In contemporary American culture, that’s a significant milestone. As of today, she can drink alcohol legally and the cost of her car insurance decreases significantly. She’s very excited about the former and I about the latter, but I’m sure there are other legal dimensions of turning 21 that neither of us has thought about yet.

Review of Kevin Roose, The Unlikely Disciple:  A Sinner's Semester at America's Holiest University.  Grand Central Publishing, 2009.

I am a grammar snob.  While I don't grade seminary students on the mechanics of writing, I do mark infelicities of English style and insist that communicating clearly is a matter of courtesy as well as a defense against being misunderstood.   "I don't know what you're thinking unless you can explain it to me"  has become my mantra.

Right after I uploaded my last blog post on The Bible as Instructions, I found this comic in my local paper.  It fits!

As long as the word "Bible" is used to mean "definitive" or "instructions," is there any hope people will read it for its stories?  What chance do those of us who want to open up the reading of these writings have in the face of pop culture definitions?

That's the question that ran through my head as I pondered a display outside of Borders at the local mall.

The 40-year anniversary of the moon walk of Apollo 11 has me nostalgic.  I remember where I was and where I was headed on the evening of July 20, 1969.

It was the first night of a month-long, cross-country family car trip.  My father, who loved to travel, hatched the idea and planned the details with the help of AAA.  He and my mom bought a station wagon, topped it with a Sears luggage carrier, packed up all four kids, and headed out from North Carolina to California.  I was 11 at the time.

My daughter, a college senior, saw the new Harry Potter movie at midnight last night.