October 26, 2015 Podcast

Show open: continuing the '27 Traits of the Modern Man' urban-gentleman debate

• What makes a man an 'urban gentleman' rather than the modern man?

Produced intro leads into the live show open from the Pathway Studios. The hosts recap the prior week's discussion of a New York Times '27 Traits of the Modern Man' list and their running rebuttal, the 'urban gentleman'. A host notes Mike Rowe posted his own manly-men list on Facebook. They joke that nobody emails the show and that the advertised call-in line does not exist.

Traits 12-14: soap, Wu-Tang, and grocery lists

The hosts work through more modern-man traits. #12 (checking the Irish Spring bar before showering) becomes a debate over bar soap versus body wash and loofahs, ending with the verdict that the urban gentleman is simply comfortable with his bathroom decisions. #13 (listening to Wu-Tang weekly) is rejected: the urban gentleman is not beholden to anyone's music list. #14 (paper grocery lists) is partly endorsed: the urban gentleman is not afraid of pen and paper, and writing things out helps sermon prep. A host describes using Hy-Vee's online cart that reorders the same groceries weekly.

Traits 15-16: hardwood floors and the intruder side of the bed

The hosts reject #15 (the modern man must have hardwood floors) as overly exclusive. #16 (sleeping closer to the door so the intruder meets the husband first) gets a warmer reception: a host defends it as the same instinct as walking a lady on the street side, while others note the average man would sleep through the break-in. The segment ends with a co-host's story about an untested dinner-bell alarm clock that scared him fully out of bed on first use.

Traits 17-18: melon ballers and shoehorns

#17 (owning a melon baller) is conceded with a principle: if the urban gentleman cooks, he does it correctly and with style, using the right tool. #18 (having thought seriously about buying a shoehorn) stalls when nobody knows what a shoehorn actually does; a Google search settles it (it guides the heel into a loafer and protects the shoe's back). One host now genuinely wants to buy one.

Traits 19-20: surprise flowers and the little spoon

#19 (buying flowers to surprise his wife rather than to apologize) is fully endorsed: the urban gentleman does a positive thing unprompted, like bringing home a Diet Coke just because he was thinking of her. Not buying himself Reese's peanut butter cups does not count as a gift. #20 (being the little spoon) is shut down: the urban gentleman does not discuss this.

Traits 21-22: sneeze etiquette and the morning paper

#21 (not scolding his daughter when she sneezes during an apple donut) prompts a long sneeze-hygiene debate: sneeze into the elbow, into the chest/shirt, or free into the atmosphere, with input from a co-host who works in food service and sneezes into his elbow before changing gloves. The verdict lands on the urban gentleman carrying a handkerchief and taking the sneeze on himself. #22 (ambling half-nude down the driveway for the newspaper) is rejected; print media is declared dead, though a comics-and-sports-only subscription would sell.

Traits 23-24: Michael Mann collections, phones, and selfies

#23 (owning all Michael Mann films on Blu-ray) sends the hosts Googling Mann's filmography (Heat, The Insider, Miami Vice, Manhunter, Last of the Mohicans, Collateral). Verdict: the urban gentleman may stream or collect whatever he genuinely likes; one host defends his Jurassic World disc as shelf decoration. #24 (not fussing over phone battery) becomes a phone-etiquette debate: don't burn battery on games, texts-versus-calls (letters were impersonal too), and the definitive ruling that the urban gentleman takes no solo selfies on his phone — classy photos with other people are fine, duck faces are not.

Traits 25-27: guns, crying, and dancing

#25 (the modern man has no use for a gun) is rejected outright: the urban gentleman may choose to own one or not, but has considered the elements; a co-host wants a machete for home intruders, inspiring a 'grown Boova in the buff with a machete' bit. #26 (the modern man cries often) is softened: the urban gentleman cries when it's appropriate (an old hymn like 'Blessed Assurance' alone in the car) but not on a schedule. #27 (a secret killer dancer) is accepted with conditions: no 'jam', but if Walk the Dinosaur comes on he dances. One host tells his senior-prom story of dancing in a cape and top hat to ZZ Top's 'Sharp Dressed Man', and another (a former DJ) admits he laughed at song requests from the booth.

Urban-gentleman wrap-up: coyotes, celebratory gunfire, and vuvuzelas

The hosts wrap the list with a joke about publishing 'the 54 ways to be an urban gentleman' as a coffee-table book, since several traits were split decisions. A host tells how coyotes were eating his chickens, he sat in his truck weaponless at 5 a.m., then borrowed a gun and never fired at one (another man shot it). A co-host who was in the Middle East describes celebratory gunfire when Saddam Hussein was captured, teaching the rule: gunfire plus car horns means celebration; gunfire alone means take cover. The segment closes with the urban gentleman choosing a gun over a vuvuzela.

Sponsor spot: Bob Eisenlauer

Mid-show sponsor read for Bob Eisenlauer and eisenhowerteam.com (home buying and selling). A host gives a personal testimonial: Eisenlauer priced his house honestly instead of inflating the listing price, and helped him find the right properties. Listeners are urged to say thanks for sponsoring the show.

'Pope style' (cope style): handling anxiety with praise music and asking God for rest

A co-host shares his 'pope style' (transcript ASR; context indicates 'cope style') for coping with anxiety. Two practices: fill the room and house with praise music to refocus the mind on God, and stop asking his own plans for permission to rest — instead ask God at day's end, 'can I rest?', and obey if the answer is to keep working. He cites the Psalmist following God's commands by day and singing his praises at night.

Refusing the Sabbath and being invited into God's rest

The hosts respond to the rest discussion: people fight the command to rest, 'disobeying God to obey God', and treat plans as a hard mistress. A host compares trusting God to handing an overwhelming work project to a boss, or a new parent calling their mom, and notes the refusal to let the King take what he's offered to carry is a symptom of disorientation. Includes the Truth Network 99.3 FM radio sign-off (lifefromthepath.org, feedback email, station manager Chris Roloff for complaints) and the closing maxim, 'be faithful in the means; God will handle the ends.'

Letting go: the soul-body dissonance and final restoration

After the radio break, the hosts continue on trusting God: the soul knows God has a worry under control while the body keeps 'getting amped up', a dissonance a host calls a consequence of the fall. They look forward to everything being restored, when the body will live in complete harmony with the soul and the relationship between man and himself is healed — 'that sounds awesome'.

Dear LFTP: the ex-husband who won't commit

• Should I give my ex-husband time to heal, or am I trapping myself in a hopeless relationship?

The reader reads a letter from a woman back with her ex-husband for eight months after a two-year divorce during which he remarried. He left his second wife but refuses to divorce her, will never remarry the writer, has 'lost faith in all women', yet introduces the writer as his wife in public. The hosts advise leaving him: he wants the accolades of husband and father with none of the responsibility. 'He's a stool.' Integrity is defined as the picture on the box matching what's inside. The Secular answer: she is not his wife; his wife is his wife, with all the rights of a spouse under Missouri law.

Dear LFTP: the gossiped-about fishing brother

• What can we say to gossiping family members without sinking to their level?

A letter writer asks what to say to gossiping family members who claim her 29-year-old unmarried brother (a fisherman who hosts teammates before 3 a.m. tournaments) must be gay. A co-host shares that his own family asked the same when he let a man stay at his house. Advice: be direct — 'my brother is not gay, please stop spreading rumors about him because it's really annoying' — and walk away from gossips.

Dear LFTP: the 16-year-old atheist girl who wants to belong

• I'm a 16-year-old who doesn't believe in God but wants to be a Christian; what should I do?

A 16-year-old girl writes that she doesn't believe in God but wants to be a Christian because she wants belonging, her friends are believers, her brothers mock her interest, and the boy she likes comes from a religious family. The hosts answer: the motive is wrong but the desire for community isn't, and anyway 'just follow Jesus' — illustrated with an analogy about taking a $150,000 job partly for the office plant: get in, get to know it, then decide. The Secular answer ('be true to yourself') is dismantled at length: either you have been true to yourself and you stink, or you haven't and you're untrustworthy. Closing riff: some people call 'being an individual' what is really just being a drag (Mike Tyson's face tattoo).

Dear LFTP: nosy neighbor Myrtle

• How should we handle our nosy neighbor who watches everything we do?

A letter writer asks how to handle a nosy neighbor, nicknamed Myrtle, who knows what wine brand they drink and when they walk the dog. Advice is comic escalation: move, or confuse her with deliberate weirdness — peanut-butter helmets, taping a pizza box to your back, a weekly garden-gnome army in her yard, mirrored windows, digging a fake grave when the police are watching. The Secular answer: stay polite, deflect questions with questions ('Myrtle, why do you ask?'), keep shades drawn, vary the dog-walking route.

Outro

The hosts close out the podcast-only portion: keep working toward becoming the urban gentleman, give your own 'Myrtle' something wholesome to look at, 'be faithful in the means; God will handle the ends', and the sign-off line about the mistakes you've made in life.