I have received a couple emails in the last 24 hours asking me to clarify the difference between my forthcoming book “HIGH POINTS AND LOWS” and a book I had previously been advertising as coming out soon: “COKE ON THE ROCKS”.

They are the same book.

My publisher felt that the title “Coke on the Rocks” (a) didn’t give a strong enough sense of what the book was about, and (b) would likely be construed as a drug reference.

The first essay in the book is still one called “Coke on the Rocks”, but the title is now history. I appreciate the kind words from those of you who really liked the “Coke” title, but my publisher’s concerns were valid and I’m very happy with our new title.

My girlfriend comes from a little mountain town in NC called Hendersonville, and every time we are up that way we pop into this used bookstore we really like. One of the last times we were there, I came across a weathered collection of Tennessee Williams plays. It was only a buck so I bought it.

Now, I mention this to say: I really enjoyed all of the works in this collection. While Williams is certainly best known for his Streetcar Named Desire or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, all of his works are affecting and worth reading. He has a very direct way of illuminating the weaknesses of the human condition. He chronicles the way we pine for love and respect and approval, and how— even upon getting these things— we still find ourselves empty. Needless to say, as a Christian writer, this is where I would typically mention Jesus, but I’m not going to go there. Williams’s material doesn’t ask us to look for redemption from our broken condition; instead, it simply puts the spotlight on our broken, selfish nature, and allows us that very rare opportunity: to look at ourselves— our wants and our needs and our hopes and our fears— with complete objectivity.

I know lots of readers think Williams to be somewhat self-indulgent, but I disagree. I learned alot about myself from these works, and I think, should you go revisit some of his material, you might learn some stuff about your own self, too.

In a related story, I kind of want to get a white lab someday and call him Tennessee.

We all know the drill: you pull up to a stoplight, the world underneath you begins rumbling, you look to your left, nothing, you look to your right…

and there he is: the problem.

With blatant disregard to the world around him, the problem sits in his little neon hatchback, playing his “music” at such a volume that words and melodies become undecipherable. At this decibel level, the “music” morphs into a giant pulsating rhythm, more a feeling than a sound. You know this because you suddenly feel it paralyzing your body. It gives you an instant headache and— somehow, I don’t really understand it, but it happens— you are quickly rendered nauseous. Finally, after the light turns green, homeboy gasses it and, his car void of a muffler, he takes off like it’s the start at Daytona.

Here’s what I want to know: why do people subject themselves to this? Obviously it’s a popular subculture, considering they made about 27 of those Paul Walker movies. But, why?

I have a bit of experience on this issue, because my hometown of High Point used to be the unofficial capital of “cruising” in North and South Carolina. Back then, an onslaught of these peeps would show up each weekend in their powder-purple Preludes and clog up our downtown with their loud engines and louder music. I thought it was all very silly until I turned fifteen and began hanging around a guy who was hip to the scene. SO… for months I rode around in his Honda CRX, listening to Nas (“If I ruled the world…”) and Wu Tang (“I begged, I begged, easy on…”) at a volume that would make even Hellen Keller clasp her hands to her ears.

Point being: listening to music at that level is not only obnoxious to everyone around you, but it’s painful to yourself. So my questions is, why? I can sort of understand wanting to do it as a kid— you know, showing off your individuality and coming off rebellious and all that angsty jazz— but why, as a grown person, would you subject yourself to this kind of pain?